


Hope is the Last Thing We Lose

by LooseCanon



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, First time writing, Not sure about a damn thing, good luck and leave thoughts, ideally i get better at this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-01-06 15:17:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 42
Words: 213,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12213492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LooseCanon/pseuds/LooseCanon
Summary: Mental meanderings loosely based on the events of Fallout 4.Christine is a student at MIT, and the first successful survivor of an illegal human cryo experiment. Her world flips drastically when she wakes from stasis in a scientific research vault with a bunch of dead people, 200+ years and a nuclear war later.





	1. If I could choose again, I'd do it all over, just the same.

**Author's Note:**

> My intent is to tell Christine's story, interspersed with stories from her other companions.

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The permissions were all signed. The disclaimers were all signed. Forms and liability clauses and statements of acceptability and fitness, then forms and permissions and statements of acceptability and fitness to prove she was fit to make the choices. Not that Christine wouldn’t have just done it all anyway, official papers or not. Elliot and Anna were her dearest friends, and all three of them had been wrapped around this project for 4 long and occasionally frustrating years. The day Christine’s roommate Anna trailed off from expounding her vast disgust at yet another company declining to fund her work, and just sat there staring at Christine, was the moment that had changed their lives. Especially Christine’s.  
\------------------------------------  
One moment Anna was throwing things around the room, with her blonde hair a tangled mess, and her green eyes snapping. Next, she had thrown herself onto the chair at her desk, almost falling off the other side. Then she sank in on herself with her arms crossed on her ample chest and grumbling. Loudly. Always loudly Loud grumbling gave way, as it invariably did, to a return of Anna’s plump little figure stomping around the room, gesticulating wildly and muttering to herself, occasionally yelling a word or phrase that particularly described her anger or the situation well. Christine caught these loud words and agreed equally loudly with everything Anna said. She had long ago learned it was the only way to calm her friend down. Validate her feelings, Elliott had said. Resigned to helping her friend through another episode, Christine stopped her IPod and pulled out her earbuds.

“…in the simplest terms to a roomful of bureaucrats from West Tek! Where were the scientists who could see the value of cryogenic stasis? Where was anyone with a bloodyscientificforpetessake clue? But no, I was set up in front of idiots who didn’t know how timetables related to acceptable levels of mental degradation mattered! As if any was acceptable in my book. But I ran all the numbers past them anyway. They patted me on the head like a nice child and sent me from the room! There goes our last chance of funding, except for that puny little start-up Vault-Tec…oh…………..” Anna trailed off, staring at Christine. 

Christine Christopher (Just. Don’t.) sat for a long moment, waiting for Anna to finish her sentence, but Anna kept staring at her. As the minutes stretched on, Christine started to become self-conscious. 

As nonchalantly as possible she ran her fingers quickly through her long dark hair. Yes, she thought with relief, I did comb my hair. All in place except for that stupid cowlick above her ear. That never sat properly, damn thing. Had she forgotten to finish putting make-up on her other eye? She was getting better at applying liquid eyeliner but was still a pathetically incompetent amateur, getting pathetically incompetent smudges everywhere, except where she wanted the damn eyeliner to go, to begin with. 

If she was lucky, Elliott would frame her dark eyes for her and laugh at what a lousy girl she was, not to be able to even put on eyeliner right. Having a Fabulous friend was exceptionally useful sometimes. Fashion Consultant, Make Up Teacher, hell Elliott had even appointed himself to be her Professional Comportment Judge (and Jury…) He chided her on galloping down the student apartment halls and flopping onto the sofa. “Ladies do not Gallop or Flop, Chrissy.” “Chrissy, stop slobbing along. Stand up straight.” “Please try to have some self-respect for your gender, pet. If not for yourself, then do it for me. People will think I have no sway with you. That despite my expert advice, you insist on doing the wrong things. I can’t survive that Chrissy.” 

Yeah, call me Chrissy one more time and I’ll show you just how much of a lady I am....

Was her sweatshirt on inside-out? Maybe she just had a dumb expression on her face. Continuing to be as unobtrusive as she could manage, she drew her slender, long-legged frame into a posture more resembling stiff royalty on parade, than the athletically-relaxed volleyball player she was. She was becoming an etiquette ninja, she snickered. Elliott would be proud. She drew her face into what she hoped was a less befuddled and more scholarly expression. But Anna kept staring. Thankfully someone pounded on the door and startled both girls back into reality.

“AnnaAnnaAnnaChrissyChrissyChrisssy!!!!!!!!!” Christine grit her teeth. Elliott was either on the warpath about the meeting, or had another wild idea for tweaking their experiments. Christine threw herself to open the door in relief, and got banged in the hand violently as it flew open. Elliott galloped in. 

“For Pete’s sake Elliott! Wait for me to answer the door next time! You broke a fingernail!” Christine yelped, staring at her hand.

 

“That’s my girl. We’ll make a proper female out of you yet. Well done.” Elliott grinned as he dashed past her, waving a sheaf of paper at Anna. “Anna, I have a solution to the brain reflux. Three electrodes, plus…”  
Anna interrupted him excitedly, “Four! Listen I just had the most brilliant epiphany! Listen, muscle atrophy could also be negated if we...”

Now it was Elliot’s turn to interrupt. “I keep telling you, frozen muscles require no stimulation, so we only need three! If we attach the previous two here but place the third on…”

Oh thank goodness, Christine thought. Anna had been staring through her, not at her. Self- conscious as only a 5’11” woman in a 5’7” world could be, less staring would be nice. 

She slouched (YES SLOUCHED, ELLIOTT!!) back in her chair, picked up her clipboard, and put in her earbuds. Music had always been a safe place for her. It soothed her, it uplifted her, it gave words to feelings, it excited her, and it gave her happiness an outlet. She considered for a moment going to the dorm lounge with her guitar, or playing the old piano in the basement for an hour or so. Maybe the fresh air of her hands creating a tune would clear her mind.

Then again, it was always hard to concentrate on her work instead of the explosive discussions between her roommate and Elliott. Spending so much time with Anna made her voice pretty much drone out. She would cheerfully have listened to Elliot’s British accent instead of her music, and watched his impeccably dressed, graceful, muscular body all day though. Elliott was a dancer who was majoring in Experimental Sciences alongside Anna at the National Adaptive Research Partition- NARP. NPOOP to its more irreverent students. It was a branch of MIT dedicated to less conventional experimental sciences. Elliot was also gay. So fascinating, but so out of reach. Sometimes life truly sucked. 

Realizing she would never get back to work on her philosophy thesis if she stayed in the room with her two favoritest and noisiest scientists in the world, she headed to the library, her second favoritest and quietest place in the world. Books were solace, books were adventure. Books were windows into another place and time. She even loved the smell of them. Books were her Zen. The library was her temple of peace. With books and her music, she could survive forever.

 

December came and left. Anna and Elliott failed yet again to qualify for research funding. They needed more money for Experiment 74 -a process that would prove cryogenic stasis would be practically harmless on a larger life form than the monkey they were currently limited to. All the computer models and simulations pointed consistently to success. They had fretted and cried about it for about a month before Christine had hesitantly asked how safe the process was for a human. 

Both scientists gawked at her. 

“Are you volunteering to be a test subject?” Elliott asked carefully. “You know unsanctioned testing on human subjects is punishable by law? We could go to jail or worse. And you could be left a vegetable if our calculations are incorrect?”

Christine nodded. “I am. I’ve been listening to you for a long time now, squawking about funding dead-ending your research. Most of the time I don’t understand what you’re saying, but I am catching how safe you’re convinced it is. I’m not science geeks like you. I’m a philosopher. I see things from a different standpoint. There are a plethora of theories on death and adventure, some created by scientists like yourselves, but I’m going with a Christine-ism: I trust you. Let me point out that I’m a perfect subject. Non-smoker, strong and healthy, haven’t had a drink in weeks, and zero health issues. And remember the accident? I don’t even have female workings for you to possibly melt anymore. You’re lucking out here.”

The silence was deafening. 

“No.” Anna and Elliott said together. They turned back to their equations.

“’If you were born to be shot, you’ll never be hanged.’ What are the chances I was meant to die in a cryogenic experiment?” ‘What does not kill me makes me stronger’. It’ll be good for me.”

“No”, Anna quietly said. 

Elliot snorted. “From Life’s School of War, blah blah blah, right?” 

“Isn’t it though? You wage a war to make a world innocent to the possibilities of your successful research, aware of the options every single person on the planet would benefit from. You fight against the well-funded, willfully -blind tyrants of our future. I’m a philosopher. I know that at the end of all things, my future is, and will irreversibly remain in my own hands. I may not be a scientist, but I know trust. And I trust you two. With my life.” And I would trust you with my heart, Elliott, if you’d stop being gay and calling me Chrissy, she mentally added. 

Anna blinked.

Elliot slowly grinned. “Welllll…”

“No.”

“She wants to.”

“No.”

Christine broke in. “Think of the funding even one tiny successful test will generate. Think of the millions of medical things this will impact. Think of the world, what it could mean to every single person. People waiting for a heart can wait in cryostasis until one is found. People with diseases there’s not cure for yet, can wait peacefully and with no pain until their miracle happens. This could be big, Anna. You could reach the key to all of this by letting me sleep a little. You trust your research, and I trust you.”

“No.”

“Aw come on!”

“I’ll think about it,” Anna hedged with a sigh.

 

So test after test had been conducted to determine her readiness for Experiment 74. At one point Christine was certain every bodily fluid she possessed had been tested. Then there were the mental batteries. The first was to determine her mental functioning levels, the next to test her mental stability to make this decision. Elliott often forgot details in his enthusiasm for the project. Anna was taking no chances with her friend, or frankly the liability issues if The Experiment failed. And this was only the first of a series of Experiments the three conspirators agreed to. So many things could go wrong. Anna re-checked their research for the umpteenth time, just to be absolutely, positively sure.

Finally the day came. Christine signed the last form to agree to her mental readiness and physical fitness for the test, and the liability disclaimer, and settled herself comfortably in the chair. Anna and Elliot had accepted the funding from the little Vault-Tec company after all, despite the smallness of the grant. They were desperate for money. The team had long since exhausted their savings accounts, and pawned anything of value they had months before. If they were successful, Vault-Tec would provide a larger grant for continued research. For reasons of plausible deniability, the company refused to learn details of the human experiment, stating it was scientific minutia that the grant committee didn’t need access to. She though that sounded kind of shady, but all of Anna and Elliot’s hopes and research were pinned on this one experiment, so she remained quiet.

Anna and Elliot quietly and efficiently strapped gizmos, gadgets, and the hotly contested electrodes, whose magic number proved to be 14, all over her body.

Elliott carefully brushed the hair from her face. Anna stared searchingly into Christine’s eyes. She drank in their dear faces, lingering too long on Elliott’s perfect lips. So close.

“Are you sure you want to do this? It’s not too late to change your mind.” 

“Yes Elliott, Anna. Enough. I’m ready.”

And so Test 74 began. She had remained under for two hours to establish functioning baselines and had awoken feeling nothing but slight nausea. The team was jubilant. They had done it! A human being successfully survived cryostasis! Grant money poured in.

A few quick tests, then Christine went under again, this time for six hours. Again, no side effects but nausea. By the end of September 2017, she was ready to settle into a one month stretch Down Under as they jokingly called it. All the pre-tests came up normal. The nausea problem had been alleviated by a simple adjustment in her before-game bioshot (again their joking terminology), a concoction of Anna’s containing vitamins and nutrients designed to replace any lost in the stasis term, and to stabilize the acids in her stomach. Again Christine returned from her time “asleep” to no residual effects except muscle flaccidity due to inactivity. As Christine was normally a very active person, bringing her body to an abrupt physical halt had startled her system. Muscle atrophy was one of Anna’s biggest worries. How to keep the body moving so muscles don’t weaken, and blood doesn’t pool and cause clots, was what kept her up nights. 

Elliot did not share her concern. “The cryogenic process is not the cause. A person with established high metabolism suddenly becoming completely inert, and for such a long time is the culprit.” 

Anna almost tore out her hair in frustration. “People are 60-70% water. A banana is 73% water. It has no metabolism at all. Try freezing one then seeing how it looks when you thaw it out! Brown and mushy! We do not want people becoming brown and mushy!” Christine giggled. Anna glared. Elliot snorted.

It was Anna’s red, angry face that made Elliot pause. Anna was an extraordinarily enthusiastic scientist. Dramatic almost. But if she was this distraught about something, drama was not involved. The muscle flaccidity was an issue worrisome enough for Anna to stop everything and find answers. 

He reached out and gently took her hand. “You can solve this. Tell me how I can help you.”

The change in Anna’s demeanor was comical. One minute she had been a huffy, infuriated bullfrog on the warpath, now she was deflated and disbelieving. “You know I’m rightWhat? Youwhat?... What?”

“Sure. Of course. Where do we start? Traditionally muscles have retained their memory when a constant series of small shocks are send thru them. We can start there. It will mean more electrodes, possibly combining processes with the existing ones? But how do we jolt motion into frozen muscle?”

Christine fell asleep on her chair to their voices droning on long into the night.

 

Then it had been time for her regular yearly college physical.

When the results came back that she had radiation poisoning, Christine was flabbergasted. As the tests she, Anna, and Eliot had been conducting were highly experimental and human subjects were strictly forbidden, she could say nothing to the medical team except that she had no idea how this could be. The medical team set about trying every form of medication and process available to remove the radiation from her system, but to no avail. There was simply not enough research to provide a cure for her.

Her doctor had been working with a privately –funded grad student whose primary focus was medical radiation. She was running data constantly on compounded effects from x-ray exposure etc. Her name was Bev, and she was fascinated with Christine’s case. Despite having so little data to go on, she took on the situation with alarming eagerness. Christine began looking forward to her next Freeze, just to get away from the constant barrage of questions. 

For days, the medical inquisition and mental testing continued. Christine finally threw Elliott’s battered clipboard at him. She hopped into the stasis chair. “I know everything is ready. Just do it. I’m ready.”

In truth, Christine had never felt so un-ready for anything. She had not told her friends of the radiation poisoning or that it couldn’t be cured, or even that the Dean had not reinstated her as a student, even for the next semester. She had nothing, felt nothing, and all she wanted was the sweet oblivion of hopefully dying of her radiation poisoning in stasis sleep.

Anna and Elliott again studied her face for any hesitation.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” 

“Yes. I am very ready.” And I hope it fails and I never have to face anyone ever again, she mentally added.

Anna administered the bioshot. As Christine was drifting off, she heard Anna’s voice saying, “A month Christine. It’s okay. You’ve got this”. And then everything went dark.


	2. The More You Know, The More You Don't Know You Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby steps Christine, Baby steps

Chapter 2

She couldn’t breathe. Christine tried to sit up but banged her head on the clear cover of the pod she was lying in. Confused and dazed, she dragged in another choking breath and started pounding on the Plexiglas. No one came. She couldn’t even hear the noise of someone coming. What the hell? Where were Anna and Elliott? Why had they left her alone? Had she woken up early? With her luck, they were probably at lunch.

She drew her knees up to her chest and started kicking as hard as she could against the clear shield. Nothing happened. She began kicking again, her feet banging a noisy staccato on her clear coffin. The lid shifted a little bit. Was it loosening from the base? She tried to get another breath but there was no more air. Desperately she slammed her feet against the lid, over and over as hard as she could. As her vision darkened, she heard a small ‘crack’. One foot flew through the jagged opening she had made. It came back scraped and bloody, but she had air. Lovely, lovely air. She gulped it in, gagging and hacking. Her vision slowly cleared.

Finally her breathing stabilized. She yelled for help until her already strained throat protested in pain. Where the hell were Anna and Elliott?

She carefully kicked the cracked plastic pod until a piece broke off. Once broken, the clear section seemed delighted to collapse, and fell in on Christine, cutting her arm.

“Jesus Christ on a Crouton!!” she swore angrily, throwing bits of plastic across the room. She stepped out of the broken pod on wobbly legs, and promptly threw up.

Where the hell was she? Christine lurched unsteadily from room to room calling out for Anna and Elliott, gaining coordination, but hearing no answer. It was as quiet as a tomb. Which it almost was, she thought sourly. Anna and Elliott had a lot to answer for.

Banks of huge, archaic computers lined four of the rooms. There was a fairly elaborate living space, with bedrooms, bathrooms, and a lounge. But the desks and lockers were all empty, beds unmade, and chairs fallen over as if people had left in a violent hurry. And it was filthy. 

She caught a reflection of herself in a grimy mirror and stopped short. What the hell was she wearing? A blue, skintight suit with tubes leading goodness knows where, clung to her curves. She ripped open the suit to discover the tubes were actually wires, and corresponded to electrode- looking thingys that attached to her body as she zipped her suit back up. Except that one. That was definitely a tube... 

Wait a minute. Who changed her into this?

“Elliott!! Anna?” she yelled again. 

This time she heard a rustling sound, like someone shuffling papers. Finally! She followed the noise.

“Goddamn it! You guys are assholes! Couldn’t you hear me yelling?! I almost suffocated in that plastic spaceship you stuck me in. Where the hell did that come from?! God’s Underpants guys! I almost died in there!!!Where the hell is everyone?!”

She weakly sat on a chair for a second. Muscle degradation didn’t seem to be a problem after all, but coordination was a little iffy. My body needs a little time to recover from a month under, she thought.

I’m going to smack both Elliott and Anna right upside the head!” As soon as I find them, she mentally amended.

After a few more moments, Christine heaved herself upright and walked toward the noise again. She strode around the corner, intent on the death and destruction of the two people she USED to love most in this world, then almost tripped over herself running back into the room. Bloody hell! Was that a giant freakin cockroach?! She frantically ran her hands all around the door frame searching for a way to shut the damn thing.

The shuffling paper sound came closer, and a remote part of her brain registered the sound to actually be the scuttling legs of that dreadful creature. Almost sobbing with relief, she hit the control and the door slid shut, miraculously crushing the bug mid -leap. 

Shaking, she flopped ungracefully onto the floor (YES FLOPPED ELLIOTT!!!) and stared at the terrifying beast crushed by the door. It was huge! Cockroaches were omnivorous, right? They are meat, right? Like person-sized meat, if it were this big, right? And why the hell was it green? She knew NPOOP dealt with unconventional studies, but damn! Who the hell funded that research? If someone had gotten funding for a line of study that led to the creation of a giant cockroach, getting money for the cryogenics study should have be a breeze!

With almost superhuman effort, she tried to slide onto the nearest chair, but ended up doing an awkward backwards crab fumble dance before actually lining her butt up with the seat. Who in Gods Flaming Hell made SWIVEL desk chairs!! 

Death, she thought angrily. I have had just about enough. Death to everydamnbody! With my luck, some handsome scientist would have chosen that moment to come in. Wouldn’t that have been just perfect.

Christine leaned on the desktop and put her aching head in her hands. She stared the blinking green dot on the screen of the very old-fashioned computer, trying to make sense of what was going on. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. It’s blinking she thought numbly. Stop blinking at me you stupid thing, I’m trying to think. 

Suddenly she sat bolt upright. The computer was blinking! It’s blinking! She tapped a few keys and a whole list of dated entries scrolled up. Yes! Maybe this thing has some answers for me! She only barely refrained from hugging the computer. 

 

First entry, dated 2017/12/1645- Elliott has been nagging me to start documenting our progress and impressions as we plug away at this. First, let me note that all disclaimers and permissions signed by our subject, Christine M. Christopher, have been scanned in and are in the inerasable file marked Christine Madeline Christopher. Tricky I know, but we were just starting out here. And on this archaic piece of junk. I feel like a god typing on a troglodyte’s forehead.   
So Christine has been under for one month we have decided to let her continue in stasis. During testing, we discovered an anomaly. She has had radiation poisoning for almost 4 months. The NARP medical team was aware of it, but are unable to cure her. She invoked patient confidentially and demanded the information to be kept quiet, and her wishes had to be obeyed. It was only when I pressed for more information that a certain unnamed medical team member, who I had had some classes with, shared a bit more. An unrequited love is a useful thing once you get over how annoying it is to have a human puppy dog.   
Christine, if someday you read this, why? Why didn’t you tell us? How could you not let us know? As scientists for possibly fouling up our research, but more importantly, as friends who you should feel you can confide everything in. Trust. Remember trust Christine? Remember the day you said you wanted to be our human subject? You said you trusted us. Sweetheart, we trusted you too.  
As soon as we found out, the experiment changed. You have become the subject you tried to convince me with so long ago. You’re staying in cryogenic stasis until a cure for your radiation poisoning can be found. I miss you so much, you idiot. 

Entry dated 2018/01/0400- It’s been a wretched night. Anna is still tossing in her bed and I simply cannot even bear to look at mine. Bev, Anna’s puppy dog, has come up with a reverse engineered strain of a radioactive process she is certain can help you. We were ready to bring you up from Down Under when we received some surprise visitors from that blasted company we accepted all of our funding from. They are fascinated with you and your successful stasis. They offered more than 5x our current funding, and to pay off our other creditors, so as to have sole propriety of our research. They also want to build a complete self-contained “Vault” around you, with wonderful new facilities for Anna and me, and even bring in more scientists! I’m so excited! I am disgusted to admit what wankers we are at heart, for with very little deliberation, Anna and I have now become employees of Vault-Tec. And you my love, will sleep a little longer. 

 

Christine sat numbly in her chair. This has been a shitty day from square one, she thought. First I almost suffocate in my personal plastic tomb, then I get attacked by a giant cockroach. Now I discover the people I loved most in the world just sold me out to a research company? Well it just doesn’t get any worse than that. She continued to read, but literally hundreds of entries from both Anna and Elliott had had sizable chunks deleted. 

Christine tried to ignore the clamoring in her abused-quite-enough-today-already head. Voices in her mind screamed of betrayal and fear and confusion and pain, until she realized the screams were coming from her own throat. How could they do that to her? They sold her out, then abandoned her. What was she supposed to do now? She slid to the floor crying impotently. What had happened? What the hell was going on? What did they do to her? What happened to them? 

Paper shuffled behind her. Knowing exactly what that meant, Christine shoved her tired body upright and grabbed the chair. She held it between herself and the glowing green monster cockroach like a demented lion tamer. Where the hell did he come from? Under the bed? Was he the monster under the bed? She swallowed a bubble of hysterical laughter.

“Do not start with me,” she threatened. The roach shuffled closer, eyeing her intently.

“Seriously. I am not in the mood. I will fuck you up. I have really REALLY had enough today!” The bug paused. Was it listening to her? Was that the experiment? Were the cockroaches intelligent? 

Of course not. What the hell was she thinking?

The glowing monstrosity launched itself at her. She swung the chair but only clipped it. The bug recovered quickly, and launched again. Christine threw the clumsy chair and started grabbing anything she could reach and hurtled it, trying to stun or hopefully kill the terrifying thing. She stared briefly at a ratty teddy bear on the back corner of the desk. Good headline there- ‘Mutated Cockroach Killed by a Teddy Bear.’ Another demented cackle rose in her throat. She threw the bear anyway. And a burnt book and a coffee cup full of pencils, followed by a desk fan and 3 empty soda bottles. Nuka Cola? What the hell was that? 

Out of things to throw, she braced her legs on the filing cabinet next to the desk and heaved it over. It teetered for an agonizing second, then slammed to the floor, smashing the beast flat. Green goo and guts splattered in a repulsive wave, slopping onto her ridiculous blue suit.

Small strings of bile dribbled to the floor as Christine weakly threw up the contents of her long-empty stomach again. She wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve and forced herself upright again.

She grasped another fan and held it aloft, ready to smash anything else that might come after her as she carefully searched the rest of the room. Finding nothing, she shoved desks and filing cabinets in front of the sliding door, and the closet door she hadn’t noticed in her earlier perusal. Her little fortress was small, but it was a safe place now. She desperately needed a place to stop and think this all out, without mutated bugs attacking her. Elliott, I have now broken every single fingernail on my hands and I DON”T CARE!!!!!

She surveyed the wreckage of the room. If she went back to sleep, would the nightmare end? Would she wake up in Anna and Elliott’s lab? Or would she still be in this hell? If you wake up twice in the same place, does it make it real? Is that why her bedroom was real? OOO that would have been an interesting thesis subject. 

What the hell was she thinking? Focus, Christine. This is not a good time to go mad…

WAS there a good time to go mad? There’s another topic for a paper.

“SHUT UP CHRISTINE!” she yelled aloud.

She shoved the barricade to the side, and threw open the door to The Evil Cockroach Closet, the fan held high above her head. Nothing. Oh thank god, she thought with relief. I really don’t know if I can deal with another bug.

She noticed a key taped to the bottom corner of the one file cabinet still left in the closet. If she hadn’t been staring directly at it, she never would have even noticed the well-hidden thing. She was shocked to find her name scratched into it, and a heart with an A. Anna. Anna hid something for her to find somewhere.

It was almost too easy. The key opened the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet, where she found a thick notebook and another key, this time with no markings of any kind. She began reading:

 

Entry 2052/02/1525- This is very, very not good. Our head scientist (I honestly don’t even know his real name. No one likes him. We all call him The Jackass) has locked us down here for a brief time until the “dangerous turmoil” above has abated. Dangerous turmoil? Our cryo vault has been underground for quite a while now, and with a cafeteria and bedrooms down here, I admit I haven’t gone to the surface much. But you’d think I would have heard something before today. What Dangerous Turmoil?  
Entry 2052/02/0215- Dangerous turmoil appears to indeed be dangerous, my darling girl! Europe has invaded the Middle East in order to procure more oil. Shows how remote we are here in the dear old Vault. I didn’t even know there was a problem. It’s not affecting our work, so I am oblivious to it. Except for the part where we are confined down here. I’m not very good at the whole ‘being confined’ thing. Anna jokes about dying down here. Where we have both celebrated our 62nd birthdays, I wonder if she might be either going crazy or truly have something going on like dementia. I’ll watch further.  
Our experiments continue. Christine, pet, you continue to be perfectly stable despite the 35 years that have passed. You don’t look to have aged a day. Our experiments on other humans continue, but with no luck. Maybe because they’re oriental? I can’t understand a thing they’re saying, though they are quite emphatic about it. I’m testing now to see if your radiation poisoning is the key to your survival.   
We are still stuck down here. Prisoners. Slaves to Vault-Tec, and its hunger to perfect the cryo-stasis project. Scientists still join us periodically, though they’re dressing in odd fashion out there now. Like the ‘50s. Peter Pan collars, shirts buttoned all the way up, and slacks instead of jeans. I expect them to start saying “Gee whiz Elliott”, or “oh my goodness” or something quaint like that. Anna thinks they’ve made a mental readjustment to a simple, more innocent time. All this sweetness may make me barf. Having been up there more than her, I believe the government is directing us to lead a life more dependent on simpler values, and to leave the difficult thinking to them. Now who has a trog forehead, right Anna?  
More entries followed, mostly inane blathering or equations she couldn’t understand. The last entry Christine read with a certain amount of remoteness. Dated 2054/09/1730, it read “Elliott died last week. Last I knew, he was going to talk to the Overseer for answers to a few of his Conspiracy Theory questions. (They made The Jackass the head of operations down here, can you believe it?! He’s officially called “The Overseer” now. His ego has blossomed with the title…). Now he’s gone. Overseer Jackass said Elliott never made it to their appointment, which I knew was bullshit. I left him at the office door myself. This entire book will be burned if they find it, but Christine, I pray you wake up one day to a better world than we’re in right now. I snuck after Useless and Pointless (again, I don’t know the real names of these particular fellow scientists. Just trust me on this…) as they carried Elliott’s body to the old expansion tunnel and buried him there. They’ve been watching me very closely. I don’t think they know I saw them taking Elliot’s body away, but they know he and I were close, and I might know some of what he confronted Jackass the Overseer with. And I do. We believe Vault-Tec, or whoever own them, engineered this little war. I call it little as only a few nukes (NUKES CHRISTINE!!!) were detonated, and in the Eurasian area of the world. Not here thankfully, but I expect that to happen too. Their purpose is to get as many people as possible to reserve living space in the science vaults, to ‘protect’ them in case of a war on this continent. Money, money, money. Isn’t that what anything is ever about? Jackass joked about the vaults being sold as nuclear fallout shelters instead of the scientific research facilities we thought they were to be. They built this one around you, to preserve the integrity of the experiment, living space and all. Your annex is called, “Christine’s Vault”, can you believe it? So will Vault-Tec’s next step be to release nuclear bombs here? I’ve overheard other scientists saying Vault-Tec is now owned by Med Tek, the very company we tried unsuccessfully to get research funding from so many years ago. Vault Tec has bought out many different controversial scientific and behavioral research projects, and are putting their facilities in vaults like ours. Christine, they’re building these self-contained, experimental science vaults all over the country, with the purpose of subjecting the inhabitants to scientific study! There’s even one here in Boston that is trying to create human-looking robots to replace people. So far they look pretty robot-y. But ROBOTS!!! Dear god.  
Christine, I am ashamed to have taken part in any of this. I am ashamed to be called a scientist at all. I am so so sorry. I hope you wake up one day, and to a better world than the one we’re in. Good luck my dear friend. I miss you still.

Christine sat staring at the final entry, unable to process any more. Dear God, the day got worse after all. Did it happen? Was there a Vault-Tec engineered nuclear explosion and that’s what that monster cockroach was? A nuclear cockroach? And where was everyone? If I’ve only been under 37 years, shouldn’t someone still be here working? She stopped. 37 years. Those bastards kept me under 37 years! Please just be an elaborate April Fool’s joke.

Still trying to digest all of this bizarre information, she took down the barricade at the sliding door. I hope that if there’s more cockroaches, then there’re more fans and filing cabinets too.

Before committing to her mission to find people or a way out, she took stock of her surroundings. Beds with blankets. Good because it’s freakin cold in here. An empty cafeteria. Not so good. Can’t eat empty bottles. A baseball bat and ball under one of the beds. Okay that’s good. I can use the bat against any more giant cockroaches, because I’m going to have to get out of here to get some food eventually. Forget the ball though. I wouldn’t hit anything anyway. I throw like a girl.

Stopping short again, Christine giggled. Oh Elliott, look! Another thing that marks me as female! I threw a desks’ worth of junk at a cockroach the size of a footlocker, and still missed it. Thinking of Elliott, tears started to well up in her eyes. She dashed them away with her sleeve. No. I’m done crying, she vowed. I’m getting out of here.

She hefted her bat, and eyed the door. The squished cockroach looked pretty dead, so she knew she could kill them by smashing them with her bat. 

“I can do this”, she said aloud. Her voice sounded so puny. She tried again. 

“I CAN DO THIS!!!” She yelled as she cycled open the door. Christine leapt out, screeching defiantly and swinging her bat. But there was not a single giant cockroach out there. She tiptoed down hallways and peered into empty rooms.   
I  
It wasn’t until she reached a big office on an upper floor that she found the bugs again.

Two of them scuttled and hopped directly at her. She swung her bat and felt a meaty thwack as she connected with the first one. The second didn’t wait for her to recover from her swing. It attacked, ripping her arm and neck. Christine screamed and clawed at it, tearing it from her arm and throwing it to the floor. She snatched up her bat and beat it blindly until she was sure it was dead. She gave it a few more smacks just to make herself feel better.

Mentally it may have helped, but physically it didn’t work. She felt woozy. Her eyesight was blurred. She was so very thirsty. She crawled to the water fountain just outside the office door and drank deeply. Her vision cleared. Suddenly Christine felt just fine. The wounds on her arms and neck stopped bleeding and started to heal. Even the tear on her leg was only a scar now.

“Holy crap!” she said aloud. She filled two empty beer bottles from the office with the water and set it on the desk. “You’re coming with me” she solemnly told the bottles.

In the office she found two old ammo pouches under the desk, and began putting anything that looked useful into them, including the precious water. She was amazed at the amount of stuff that fit. She found a bizarre syringe looking gizmo, a red inhaler, and oh wonder of wonders A PISTOL!!! OH YES!!! A 10mm, just like her brother’s. If only he knew his hours spent with her at the sandpit shooting tin cans might save her life. Shooting big bugs had to be easier than shooting little tin cans, right? She stashed another blue vault jumpsuit and all the ammo she couldn’t fit into the gun into her packs. In the corner of the room was a small locked cage, with glass case on the wall inside. A very fancy- looking gun was mounted in it. 

That looks like something that would take out bugs in a hurry, she thought gleefully. 

But the cage was locked. Searching the desk didn’t turn up a key, but she did find three bobby pins next to a locked drawer. 

“Really?” she asked the desk. It didn’t answer. 

Christine started to giggle. “Yes, I am talking to furniture. Now, for my next trick I will pick this lock with only a bobby pin!” She waved the bobby pin around and started humming the Mission Impossible theme song. “Dum-dum, dah-dah dum-dum, dah-dah dum-dum, dah-dah dum-dum, deedledo, deedledo, dum-dum dah-dah dum-dum… 

She trailed off as the bobby pin clicked in the lock. Christine was flabbergasted. She had just picked a lock! With a bobby pin! Oh My God, that was frickin AMAZING!!! There were only a bunch of paper and more ammo in the drawer, but Damn! She had picked a lock with a bobby pin!

The lock on the gun display case proved to truly be a Mission Impossible for her. She couldn’t even tell where to stick the bobby pin to begin. Humpf. And so ends my moment of amazingness, she grumbled.

The green dot on the computer here was blinking too, so she sat down for another hopefully enlightening read.

The entries here mostly drooled on about the day-to-day functions of the vault, but one entry identified the fancy gun as a Cryolater, which sounded like something to fry donuts in. It fired special bullets that froze the victim to death. 

“I am so coming back for you”, she vowed to the gun. 

The final entry opened a secret door in the wall. Christine yelped and leapt up with her new gun, but no giant cockroaches came pouring in. 

“Oh thank god” she breathed. “But now, it is time to explore my way the heck out of this vault.”

Most of the remaining rooms were filled with scientific- looking equipment. They were all empty, except for the final room. In it were a dozen pods, fashioned like her home of the last 37 years, but their inhabitants were all dead. The follow-ups to Experiment 111 were failures, by the looks. Then she heard a quiet moan coming from behind one of the icy tombs. 

Christine ran to the pod. It had been opened, and its occupant had crawled behind it to die. She carefully lifted the woman’s head into her lap and stroked the cold forehead, murmuring what she hoped were comforting words. 

The woman moaned again and her eyes flew open. She started babbling about her husband being shot, her baby son stolen away, and some scary guy with an eyepatch. Christine didn’t know what to do.

“Promise me! Promise me you’ll find my baby! Please they stole my son! I want my son! Please find my son! Promise!” Then the woman coughed and hiccupped, then relaxed. Just like that, she was dead. She. Was. Dead. 

Christine stared confusedly. What was the woman crying about? Someone stole her baby? And killed her? Here in the vault? Or was she just a hallucinating mushy banana? 

Christine Madeline Christopher, that was beneath you. 

Well, there’s only so much staring at a dead person that one needs to do. Christine carefully laid the woman’s unfeeling head back on the tile floor and stood up. 

Looking more closely, she saw the pod directly across from the woman’s did indeed have a man in it, killed by a gunshot to the chest. There was no evidence of a baby though.

Christine accessed the old computer terminal at the head of the cryo pods and found the names of all of the occupants, and that they had mostly all died from asphyxiation. Mushy bananas, (Christine!!) except for Nora, and Nathan, and baby Shaun. Nora was dead, Nathan was shot, and baby Shaun was gone. The dead woman’s story had been real then.

“Okay Nora and Nathan. I can’t even help myself at this point, but sooner or later, I’ll be able to help you. Anna will know the guy who did this.” It felt kind of good to have someone else’s problems to worry about. She was sick to death of her own. “I wonder if Useless or Pointless had an eyepatch. I can’t imagine that’s a common thing. Damned if I know how to help you, but I will.” And she marched into the entrance hall of the vault. 

You would think finding a room full of dead people would have freaked Christine out, but it didn’t. After all she had seen and done today, it was just another ghastly find in this miserable place. She had ridden an elevator up, and opened it to a room strewn with dead people. 

Please be a nightmare. Please just be a nightmare.

By what she assumed were the vault door controls, Christine found a small computer strapped to a dead man’s wrist. It also had a plug that looked like it would fit a slot on the control console. She strapped it on. ‘PIP BOY’, it said on the label. It promptly started whirring, and information scrolled down faster than Christine could read it. The screen finally settled. She was shocked to see her own name on it, with vital statistics and a map. On a screen marked ‘Inventory’, she was stunned. Her vault suit, gun, bat, ammo, and water were listed. How did the little computer know? Some sensing device embedded in it somewhere? It even tracked her radiation level! Other markings, like weapons controls, status, and data screens made no sense to her. 

She rubbed her thumb on the key from Anna and Elliot’s hidden journal, promising to return and find out what it went to, and returned it to her pocket

“Okay little Pip Boy, let’s see if you can be my little ray of sunshine, and be the one thing that goes right today. Please get me out of this hellhole. She plugged into the console.

Immediately a horrific metallic screeching, and great deep rumbling almost overwhelmed her. She dove under the console, thinking the roof was caving in. Instead, a much-abused fenced wall scraped protestingly up. Beyond was an open elevator platform.

Oh sure. Why not.

Seconds after she stepped onto the platform, the wall ground shut again, screeching horrifically, and the platform started to rise. 

Sunlight poured in on Christine as the upper doors opened, blinding her. Screaming, she threw her hands over her eyes and dropped to the ground, pressing her face into her knees. Slowly, gradually she let her eyes get used to the brightness. Good god, it was bright out here! Squinting and waving the gun in front of her, she maneuvered off the platform.

The light settled to a reasonable level and Christine took her first look at the outside world in what she thought had been 37 years.


	3. Future Tense/Past Tense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ideas strike me here and there #BlameItOnMyADHD , so you'll be getting this story in chunks. I'll tie them together someday. Promise.

Chapter 3

“Steel Tower, this is Steel 1. We are going down, I repeat, we are going down.”

“Steel 1 this is Steel Tower, can you give me a location? Is the Elder still on board?”

The Flight Captain listened in shock as the radio filled with incoherent yelling and crackles then went silent “Steel 1! Steel!!” There was no answer. Was the Elder ok? Did he survive? Where did the team go down? 

“Steel Base, this is Steel Tower. The vertibird carrying the Elder has gone down. Suit up a rescue team. We……” he trailed off. 

“Steel Tower, did I hear you just say we lost the Elder? All teams standing by and ready to go in 5. What are the coordinates?”

Flight Captain Pace stared at the microphone in his hand. He had no idea.

 

Lancer Captain Kells and Proctor Ingram chased the Elder down the hall and onto the Command Deck. 

“Sir you cannot go on missions! You’re too valuable! Think of what would happen if we lost you!” Kells paused for breath. “I forbid it Arthur.”

Ingram slammed the door behind them. “I agree with Owen. Arthur If anything happens to you, our mission falls back years! We don’t know the next step, only you ever do. We need you. Don’t go sneaking off again. I for one cannot go through it again!” She sputtered in her anger. “I respect that you get bored up here all the time, but think of your station in the Brotherhood! Think of what it would mean to us if we lost you!”

Arthur Maxson, Elder and leader of the Brotherhood of Steel, turned his powerful frame towards his unwelcome companions. Young and strong, to every person on the airship, he represented what each soldier in the Brotherhood of Steel aspired to. He could pin you to the wall with hard, unforgiving blue eyes, or gently explain to a squire what she could have done to better her mission. He had his flaws too, as Kells and Ingram always braced for. The call of adventure was his siren song. He disappeared for days at a time, leaving his cadre to cover for him. Sometimes he regaled them with his exploits, sometimes he simply returned to work as if nothing had happened. And he never apologized. Just did his job in his usual exemplary and inspiring manner, and without warning disappeared. Though he kept absolute control of his crew, sometimes he could not govern himself. It drove his friends insane.

Normally both Kells and Ingram were unperturbable, sailing smoothly through any storms that threatened their constantly- evolving missions. Now sweat covered Kells face, and Maureen Ingram’s choppy red hair was even more of a mess from her nervous habit of tugging handfuls of the silky stuff. They were the closest he allowed himself for friends and now both were wrecks. For a moment Arthur almost wavered. Almost.

“Thank you for your faith in my capabilities. And this is not a personal flight of fancy. As Elder I need to show the troops I’m willing to go Boots on the Ground with them, and share in the dangers of the Commonwealth right alongside them. This mission is diplomatic in nature and will likely be a small threat. It would be best served if I dealt with this General of the Minutemen face to face. I understand the General is a woman. I have an excellent record of getting what I want from women. “ 

Ingram scowled.

“I will speak with this Minuteman General, as protocol demands, then return directly here to give Teagan permission to organize the forthcoming requisitions from these local settlements. There will be no further discussion on the matter. I leave within the hour.”

Lancer Captain Kells tried one last time. “You think you can waltz in and charm this General into giving us what we want? She won’t be alone I’m sure. Bodyguards of her own I’ll bet. At least bring 2 or 3 Knight Paladins. For a show of strength, of course. And a scribe or 2, to record all transactions. “ 

A satisfied smile spread across the elders face. He knew he had won. “Of course, Owen.”

Miranda was still scowling. “Try not to lose your other dog tag.” 

 

“Steel Tower, this is Minuteman Warbird 6, we see where your bird went down and will investigate.” We’ll get back to you on what we find. Warbird 6 out.”

Christine steered her Warbird down to the wreckage of the downed ship, but could see nothing through the smoke. The “Pale Horse” as she had dubbed her ship, was her pride and joy- scraps of salvaged vertibirds from all over the Commonwealth, welded together and rewired by Sturges and his dedicated crew. Double hulled, and longer by a seats -width to accommodate extra space for the crew to get out of danger if necessary. An engine twice as powerful as anything in the Commonwealth drove the Warbird. In addition to the usual deck-mounted highly-modified miniguns, it also boasted wall racks hosting a fatman, triple-barreled missile launcher, and Gatling laser. From her command chair, Christine had control of a missile launcher and minigun mounted under the prow of her ship. In a pinch, the co-pilot could take over control of the warbird and weaponry. In a rack mounted to the reverse side of her seat were racked Christine’s personal arsenal of her maxed -out gauss rifle that shot two 2mmEC rounds at a time, her sniper rifle, modified by resident sniper expert Rob MacCready, and an automatic laser rifle (still awaiting upgrades.). Ammo for all armaments, plus a small supply of grenades were stored in floor compartments.

When her mechanic Sturges had scratched his head at the design she presented him, she had replied, “If we’re hit, we’re going to die anyway. I like the idea of being blasted into cosmic dust in my own self-engineered massive firework.“ Sturges had walked away with her blueprint, still puzzling over how to accommodate all of her modifications. 

The Pale Horse was now recklessly close to the Federal Ration Stockpile, and there was little chance the explosion and smoke hadn’t been seen.

“Guys, I’m putting her down over there. Keep an eye peeled for raiders. We haven’t cleaned this place out in a while. Brace up. Light it up if you need to, but watch out for survivors of that crash.”

“But what if we die?” Deland cried out joyfully.

“Everyone dies someday.” answered Christine.

“BUT NOT TODAY!” they all bellowed out, completing the ritual, then bent to their tasks. 

No sooner were the words out of their mouths than massive gunfire erupted, all aimed at their ship. Christine lifted the ship off the ground to give her crew the advantage of height, and smiled when they began hooting and yelling to each other.

“Over there! The one in the power armor is mine!” Minuteman Lieutenant Case swung his minigun around to splash the power armor-clad raider with what Christine considered a waste of 5mm’s, but he did destroy his target before the raider could get off a single shot with his missile launcher. Young volunteer Tara Deland started singing, “The Wanderer” as she took out 2 turrets then trained her sights on pockets of raiders.

Christine could hear bullets pinging off the hull of her beloved warbird. “Take these guys out already! They’re scratching my paint! Don’t make me take’em out myself!” 

“NONONONONO! You promised it was our turn!” Her 2 man crew redoubled their efforts. Raiders were being mowed down by their relentless fire. Her team may have been outnumbered, but they were never outmanned. Christine was very pleased with their performance. All that were left were single semi-hidden raiders blasting away with their simple shotguns. Her team took pride in tricking out every gun they handled with the most deadly and accurate modifications they could find. The results were lying dead below them. 

Tara cried out as a lucky shot caught her in the leg. It was then that Christine noticed a group of 3 raiders dragging a man toward the back of a truck. The man was much better dressed than the raiders and seemed to be struggling against them. “Tara, you ok?” she yelled back to her wounded crew member?

“Yes Ma’am! Nothing a bandage won’t solve!”

“Good girl. Get up here and hold my baby steady. Case! Do not shoot at the group on your left. I think they have a survivor.”

“Yes Ma’am. I’ll just clean up the last of these over here.”

Christine grabbed her 50cal sniper rifle from the rack behind her pilot’s seat, settled solidly on the floor of the warbird, leaned her back against Tara’s mounted minigun for stability, and listened to her breathing. Through her scope she could see the man struggling against his captors. He wore a heavy, plated leather coat over a combat armor chest piece, emblazoned with the emblem of the Brotherhood of Steel. Well isn’t that interesting, she thought. 

Breathe in, breathe out. Her first shot went cleanly through the first targets skull. Blood and bits of bone and brain rained on the remaining raiders and their captive. They looked about wildly as they released the prisoner and scrambled for their own guns. The hostage rolled onto the ground and under the truck ramp. 

Christine snickered. Aaaand this is why we train from the bird. No one ever looks to the sky for the sniper. Christine felt Lt Case settle against the doorway behind her. “Nice shot Ma’am. May I join you?” 

Taking her chuckle as a yes, Case shot the second raider in the shoulder, and Christine took out the third with another lovely headshot. The lieutenant’s second shot put the injured raider down. “Looks like I need more practice,” he smiled.

“Looks like,” she agreed. And you owe me a beer. You use a sniper rifle, you shoot clean or you owe me.”

“My pleasure.”

Christine looked up into the warmly smiling face of her lieutenant. Part of Preston’s handful of elite, Case had taken to accompanying her on most of her missions. His attentions hadn’t gone unnoticed. 

 

Cait cornered her one night about it as the two girls were lazily relaxing at a campfire, one of several that were going night and day in Sanctuary. Case had tried to join them, but Christine had gently explained that they were enjoying a Girls Night. His disappointment was palpable as he strode away.

“He like you, you know. More than just a little. More than just a lot, woman. “

“So it would seem.”

“So…..” Cait let it hang there.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No. 

“He’s handsome.”

“No.”

“And smart. Clever. Not sneaky like MacCready, but clever.”

“And tall and well-built and honest. Hard to find in this shyte wasteland.” Christine grinned.

“Now don’t you be mocking my speech! And you’d be good off to spend some quality time with him, you daft broad! I know when you get tense you go off to some settlement or somewhere, then come back all relaxed, like I don’t know what you’ve been doin. Where do you go anyway? Pawing at some raider? Or is it a deathclaw? Mores your speed.”  
Christine chuckled. 

 

In the warbird, Case helped Christine to her feet. He continued to hold her hand instead of releasing it when she was on her feet. She looked up questioningly into his face, and was surprised to see his smile had changed. It was softer somehow, and his eyes more intense. Suddenly he was no longer her affable partner, but a man with a purpose. She was even more surprised to feel heat warming inside her. Cait was right. He was very handsome. Not like the clean, almost sculpted features of her old friend Elliot, but rugged, mature, capable. He was taller than her by only a few inches. He smelled like gunfire and fresh air. She reached her palm to the back of his neck and raised her curious lips toward his face. His smile broadened and he leaned in.

BANG! 

Christine stared in slow shock as Case’s warm blood washed onto her face and chest armor. His hand slid from hers as what was left of him slumped to the floor. She stared stupidly at him, seeing his gaping chest cavity with surprised eyes. He was dead. Case was dead. He had been warm and close just a second ago and he’s not now. Her mind slowly switched gears as she turned back to the raider camp below. The raider Case had shot twice was still alive.

Christine snapped the .45 off her hip and plugged him squarely in the chest. She fired all 16 rounds and kept firing even when all she heard was her gun clicking on its empty chamber. Tara stepped carefully away from the pilot’s seat as Christine took the controls and abruptly landed. 

She strode to the dead raider and kicked him in the head. Hard. As she pulled back her leg for another kick, a hand grabbed her arm. “I think he’s dead”.

She lashed out with a left hook at the new threat and was gratified to hear a grunt as her fist connected with the side of his head. Suddenly her face slammed into the dirt as her attacker pinned her arms to her chest from behind and launched forward, driving her face first onto the ground, with his considerable bulk pinning her there immobile. Blood dripped from her broken nose into the dust.

“I’m not your enem..AAG!” he started to say as Christine brought her head up hard to butt him in the face. She felt the warm blood from his now equally broken nose on her shoulder as he withdrew slightly, enough for her to free an arm and drive an elbow into his gut. 

“AAAA JESUS CHRIST! WHAT ARE YOU WEARING UNDER THERE? A GODDAMN REFRIGERATOR??!! She snarled as she rolled back onto her feet.

He squatted back on his haunches, then launched again at her, this time squashing her flat on her back. Damn this brute was heavy, she cursed. She also noted something else. “That better be an armored cup, boy,” she gritted out between her clenched teeth.

His bearded face stared down at her in shock. It was the woman from the roof of Hub 360.


	4. Hub 360

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it continues. I wrote smut! So proud of myself. Is it terrible? Feedback please.

Chapter 4

Alarms were flashing and sounding all across the control board of the vertibird. Flames were licking at his legs and the smoke choking him as he and what was left of the crew hurtled toward the fallen skybridge in their disintegrating metal death trap. I hope we at least take out some of those green bastards when we go down, Maxson thought angrily, as the ‘bird crashed in a fiery ball of twisted metal and the cries of dying men.

I’m dead, he thought muzzily. Blurred shadows wrestled across his vision. He could hear gunfire and the crackle of the flames, and the guttural speech of the super mutants who had shot them down. The wreckage rocked as a huge green hand reached in and ripped away the seat that had been pinning him in. The mutant bellowed in victory. 

“Meat! Fresh meat!” He struggled to reach more deeply into the wreckage.

“I have meat!” shouted another mutant close by waving the carcass of what had previously been the pilot.

“Bah! That is dead meat. Not as juicy as meat that is alive. Screaming meat! Fighting meat!” He reached in again and this time was successful, grabbing Maxson by the front of his coat and hauling him out. Fighting to stay conscious, Maxson struggled weakly, succeeding only in feebly kicking the mutant in the chest.

“Ha ha! See? Meat is still fighting. This is good to eat!” He shook his prize savagely then threw it on the ground behind him, and went back to tearing apart the wreckage for more food. 

A broken man lying on a broken road in a broken world, he thought as his vision clouded and he saw no more. 

 

Clearing out the gunners nest by the fallen skybridge had cost her too much ammo. No more than a dozen 2mmEC left, a single magazine of .50, and her handy dandy laser rifle with about 40 rounds. All she had on her was her gauss rifle, sniper rifle, laser rifle, and 3 combat knives. She stared down at the super mutants swarming around the wreckage of the crashed vertibird and inwardly screamed. There were 5 of them. That many beasts would go on to attack and kill dozens of people in a single day! But she didn’t have enough ammo to clear them away and still make it home alive. More practice, she vowed. I will modify the shit out of my guns and practice until I can take down a super mutant with 1 shot. I will. I will be back for you, you green bastards. Then she saw them pull a live person from the burning wreckage. Someone was still alive? Oh hell.

She loaded each weapon with every round she had. The laser rifle stayed loosely strapped on her back, the gauss on the rubble beside her, and the .50 sniper in her hands. Staying in the shadow of the broken bus, she took careful aim and fired.   
Darting back behind the bus, she held her breath. She could hear the supermutants surprised yelling and the inevitable threatening, but they didn’t seem to be coming her way. She quietly cocked the gun again, stepped carefully out, and took out another target. She had actually taken two out with a single shot each! Good karma! Good karma! 3 more to go, she thought.

No heavy feet pounding in her direction. No loud, choppy yelling from the supermutants. She cocked another round into the chamber and peeked around the bus. One of the mutants was looking in her direction and saw her instantly.

“There! There is puny bleeder! I will eat you! Run! Run little bleeder!

Well shit. So much for good karma. 

She boldly stepped out, dropped to her knee, and fired center mass. Not checking to see how she did, she kept firing until the supermutants were almost upon her. She threw the sniper rifle at them, snatched up her gauss rifle, and jumped down through the rubble to the next floor. She had to drop 2 more dicey stories and climb out onto a fire escape to get enough distance to shoot again. 

Now only 2 were after her. Maybe she got the one she was shooting at when she was spotted? If I get out of this,” she muttered, “I’m going to sharpen the sights on my gauss rifle and lead with that next time I’m up against mu- “.

“Human! You will die! I will eat you!”

And she was off running again. 

Leery of getting caught between the mutants and the rest of the gunners she hadn’t been able to clear out, she took off across another roof. Crouching behind a chimney she was able to stop long enough to catch her breath and get off another shot. Then she realized her mistake. There was no way off the roof except the way she came! She was trapped!

The last 2 mutants were both angry and bleeding, but still very much alive. “Little human! You are trapped! You are mine now!” one threatened with glee.

“You are mine now!” echoed the second mutant.

“No! She is MINE!” shouted the first, and he landed a stunning blow on the side of the second mutants face. Just like that, the second supermutant went down like a poleaxed bull. 

She couldn’t believe her bizarre luck. Good karma again? Hilarious in a pretty pathetic way, but she promised herself she’d laugh about it later.  
She stood from behind the ruins of the chimney and unloaded the last of the 2mmEC into the standing beast. Before he even hit the ground, she ran over and shot her laser rifle 4 times into the skull of the unconscious one. Sure they were both dead, she slung her gauss rifle across her back, held her laser rifle at the ready, and took off across the roof and up the fire escape like a scared rabbit, toward the man lying on the skybridge. 

He didn’t know any of this. He was dead. He knew he was dead when he felt her over him. Angels, he thought. He remembered his mother telling him that when his grandfather died, he went to live with the angels. The angel was so close. She smelled like sweat, guns, and flowers he had never smelled before…

Then she stabbed him in the heart.

He flew up heaving. “Whaatawhymhuu-“She tossed away the used stimpak and didn’t wait for him to organize coherent speech. She kept yanking on his arm. She was saying something to him. She seemed pretty upset. He started to slowly tilt backward. The road hadn’t been that uncomfortable. Wait. Road? Angels used roads?

“NONONONONO!!” she yelled. She reached under his armpits, rested her chin on his shoulder, planted a foot on either side of his hips, and tried to awkwardly haul him back upright. Dear god he weighed a ton!

“….TOO HEAVY! YOU HAVE TO HELP ME!” She was on her knees in front of him now, holding the lapels of his coat with both hands. Her mouth was moving but he couldn’t understand what she was saying. Such beautiful lips. He watched her lips form words he couldn’t understand. A tear had slid down to the corner of her mouth. She was still saying something, but there were tears in her eyes. Brown and, purple? He couldn’t decide. He watched another tear slide down her cheek. He reached out a trembling hand to touch the tear. Then he cupped her cheek, and drew her lips to his in a kiss from the only part of him that was still alive- his soul. 

She froze at the contact. His lips were warm and soft, and she felt herself disappear. The skybridge, the ruined city, all of it. All that existed were his breath and lips and tongue. He kissed her like he knew her, like she knew him. Like they had known each other long before either of them had even been born. She withdrew.

Pain bit his leg. He opened his eyes and looked about in confusion. Where did she go? Where was he? His very own angel was kneeling in front of him again, throwing away another stimpak. He felt some of the grogginess leave him. 

”… I shouldn’t have given you another, not after having to punch one into your heart like that. Stay with me. That’s right, up on your feet. Lean on me all you need to. I’m pretty tough most of the time. Those supermutants who were going to eat you won’t be back, but this area is infested with them…” 

He liked her voice. Even under the stress of their current predicament, it was warm and soothing. As they slowly made their way up an incline of rubble toward a door, he listened to her rattle on.

“…I have only a few rounds left for my laser rifle, then I’m completely out. There’s a bolt hole just up there. Safe place. We only use them in a dire emergency. I think this counts. I hope whoever used it last refilled it. Dear god I hope there’s ammo. I wasn’t going to stop, but then they pulled you out of the wreckage and you were still alive. Stop. Can you stand?”

So caught up in the sound of her voice, he almost didn’t catch what she was saying. “Oh. Yes I can.” It came out as a cracked grumble so he tried again. “Stand. I can stand.” There. That sounded more like himself. He drew himself up as she gingerly let go. He leaned against the doorframe and gently slid down onto his butt. 

“NONONONONO!” She rolled her eyes and helped him up again, tossing his arm over her shoulder. “OK, now my hands are full. You need to open the door. We’re going in.” Clumsily, he wrestled the door open.

He remembered almost nothing of their ascent to the roof of the building, save her leaning him against walls and furniture to fire her last rounds, then her setting a series of mines and traps behind them as they climbed onto the roof. 

“There are a number of bolt holes we’ve set up all over the Commonwealth. My friend Cait calls them burrows. See? All the basic needs- blankets, food, water, and ooooo exactly the kind I need- ammo. If we have a storm, go into the stairwell. Don’t go further because of my traps. “

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “Yes. Excellent idea.”

“Smart ass. You must be feeling better. This building was Hub 360. Used to be a high class club until the bombs leveled it.”

He carefully stood up. 

“Careful.”

“You think?”

“See? Smart ass.”

He grinned and tottered to the other end of the roof, gaining strength and coordination as he went. He wandered the whole roof perimeter, looking over the sides at the city below in the twilight. No defense or guard duty needed. If anything attacked them, it would be through the door.

He stared out at the ocean, toward where the Prydwyn was waiting. How far from you I am, he thought. He was surprised to realize he didn’t care. This roof, with her, felt more like home than he had ever felt anywhere else.

He felt her come up behind him. She slid her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his shoulder. They stood quietly for a moment, then he covered her gentle hands with his strong, calloused ones. It felt so natural to do that. At last he spoke.

“Have we done this before?” 

She smiled bemusedly. “It feels like we have. But I don’t know you. I don’t even know your name. “

He turned in her arms to face her. Wrapping his arms around her, he buried his face in her hair and breathed deeply. “You smell wonderful. What am I smelling?”

“A relic. Like me.” Before he could process that remark, she leaned up and kissed him.

It was her fragrance that undid him. The sweet scent of memories that didn’t exist, of time that never was, of guns and war and hope. He pulled her to him, reveling in the feel of her body, her lips, and her tongue dancing against his. Her hands in his hair then under his shirt. She undid his chest armor and dropped it to the floor. His coat followed. Her hands were everywhere, exploring, touching, teasing. She lifted his shirt over his head, tossing it to join the growing pile of discarded items. She stood back, taking in his strong shoulders and lightly furred chest. She loved that his hair was a mess, his tidy beard lightly askew. Lust roiled in his questioning eyes. 

He reached for her but she took another step back. She reached behind her back and undid the buckles holding her breastplate, letting it fall heavily to the floor. He couldn’t take his eyes from her. Even in armor, she was sexy. Without it, her body looked like the women in the Unstoppables comics the squires were always leaving around. She was strong and curvy. Soft in the right places.

He caught his breath as she turned and bent over, releasing the thigh and calf armor. It took strong will not to stride over and put his hands on the tempting arch of her behind. She lazily turned to face him again, slowly untying the front of her leather vest. She shrugged it off, her firm, full breasts bobbing gently with the movement. Eyes challenging him, a slow, sexy smile curved on her face.

Then she was in his arms. His hands tangled in her soft brown hair as he devoured her lips. He nibbled, sucked, and kissed his way to her ear, glorying in her groan of pleasure. He lingered under her jaw, breathing in the mysterious scent of her. She twisted slightly to suck on his ear lobe, lightly tracing its curves, before lining a wet path across his neck and down his chest, to gently nibble on his nipple. She twirled her tongue to its peak, then blew lightly on it, just enough to elicit a hitch in his ragged breathing. Then she kissed and teased her way to his belt buckle. His cock was already straining uncomfortably against his pants, and when she gently teethed on it, breathing hotly through the fabric of his pants, he thought he was going to pass out again. Dropping to her knees, she tugged off his boots, and returned to torturing his cock. She circled her tongue around his navel while undoing his belt buckle. His pants and briefs were pulled slowly down together, his engorged cock finally springing free. Her eyes widened briefly at his size, making him smile. She looked wickedly into his eyes as she thrust him deeply into her mouth, then slowly withdrew, sucking to the tip, and releasing with a soft pop. She moved to repeat her movement, but he grabbed her and held her back. 

“No,” he said. “Wait or you won’t get much out of this evening.”

She chuckled as he laid her back on the blanket and began an exploration of his own. He knelt over her and ran his fingers through her hair, feeling the softness before gliding it over his lips. He held her face in his large, rough hands, staring, memorizing. He leaned down and ran his lips lightly across her forehead, down her nose, across her cheekbones, and gently kissed her eyelids. Then he plundered her mouth. He kissed her with thorough intensity, stoking an already passionate heat below her belly. He kissed her deeply as his hands stroked and teased their way down to her belt buckle. She felt him smile against her lips as he opened the belt, then stop. She gave a soft sound of displeasure as his warm body moved from hers. 

She felt him working off her boots and smiled. Clever copycat, that’s what he’d been about. 

Her hands in his hair, he returned and gently grasped her breasts, brushing his thumbs across the taut peaks before sucking and nibbling on them. Slowly, he slid her leather pants off. He gently held and stroked her legs, ending with a caress of her foot and a kiss for each toe. He kissed the inside of her knee before burying his face against the top of her thighs. There, he could smell her heat, the unique scent that was hers alone. Different than her hair or behind her ears or anywhere else on her body. It enflamed him. He returned the favor of exhaling through the fabric of her panties, the delicious warmth making her writhe with pleasure. 

He slipped off the wispy fabric that was her undergarment, wondering why she even bothered with it. He gently pushed her knees apart and was pleased to note she was already well wet for him. She groaned again in pleasure as his tongue explored. He slid his tongue to delicately encircle her clit. She jumped as he gently nipped it and swatted his head. She could feel the vibrations and his hot breath as he laughed wickedly. Then his wonderful, talented tongue was inside her. She arched her back to give him better access. He licked up her juices, using his mouth to gently lube her up again. Sucking and tormenting her nub mercilessly with his tongue, he slipped a finger into her eager slit. Her soft pumping motions became stronger instantly, he noted with satisfaction, and when he curled his finger to rub lightly on that rough patch, he was gratified to feel her erratic thrusting as she climaxed, the walls of her vagina clamping on his finger. Her hands grabbed his hair as he tweaked his finger again and she launched into the throes of another orgasm.

“Oooooooeeeeeeeeoooooobe careful you’re killing me!” she panted. 

He grinned evilly. “Should I stop?”

“You do and I’ll kill you!”

He positioned himself between her legs but stopped as her hand caressed his cheek and her thumb brushed across his lips. “I need you,” she whispered. “Badly.”

It was like a dam had opened. He thrust into her welcoming heat, waiting just a moment for her to adjust to his size. Then she wrapped her legs around him and started to move. He was quick to join her, his pumping and thrusting driving her to quickly climax again. The hair on his chest teased her already over-sensitive nipples. Her panting and gasps of pleasure as he drove his cock to the hilt inside her drove him powerfully toward his own release. It was her cry and the clenching of her around his cock as she rounded a 4th orgasm that pushed him over into his own. He muffled his shout in her hair, continuing to pump as shock waves ripped through his nerve endings. 

He could feel her twitching beneath him when he finally stopped. He propped himself up on his elbows to look down at her.

“Are you giggling?” he asked in amazement. This was a reaction he had never gotten before. “Did I do something wrong?”

”NO!” she smiled, merriment dancing in her eyes. “I have never ever had 4 orgasms. Never. Frankly happy if I got one. You gave me 4 orgasms! That was AMAZING!!! I feel like dancing, but I don’t think I can even walk.”

He laughed with delighted satisfaction. “Oh 4 orgasms only get you to giggle? What do I have to do to get a full belly laugh then huh?” He laid full upon her, lifting his hands so she was pinned under his full weight, and began tickling her.

“Ooof! You weigh a ton! You’re going to OOOO EEEEEE WAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!” She laughed and squirmed beneath him, unable to defend herself. “Stopstopno don’t do...” and she was laughing uncontrollably again. She tried tickling him back, but the devil wasn’t ticklish anywhere. It wasn’t until she began tugging sharply on his short hairs that he relented, shifting onto his back and drawing her snugly against his chest. She shifted around getting comfortable and settled in. 

He kissed her gently on her forehead. “Goodnight, woman I don’t know, who saved my life today.”

“Goodnight, man I don’t know, who gave me 4 orgasms tonight.” She felt the rumble of his chuckle under her cheek and smiled.

 

He woke up alone.

Her clothes were gone. On the edge of the blanket, he spotted her loaded laser rifle. It was holding down an Instamash box that had been torn open and turned inside out. On it was written, “You’ll need this getting out. Don’t forget to disarm the mines.” It was signed with what looked like half of a heart. What a miserable way to wake up. She was gone, and he didn’t know her name. How would he even find her again?

“Good morning sleepyhead!”

His head snapped up as he scanned the rooftop for her. There she was, over by where the roof had caved in on the corner. She was fully dressed, had her gauss rifle under one arm, and what looked suspiciously like a Brotherhood vertibird signal grenade in the other hand. 

She lit it and tossed it on the roof. “You’re going to want to get dressed before they get here.”

“Where are you going?” 

“Home.” With that, she gave him a cheeky salute and stepped backwards off the roof.

“NOOOOO!!!” He leapt out of the blankets and ran to the edge she had fallen from. A familiar hiss and clank drew his attention to a suit of power armor closing over her on the floor directly below his.

“Don’t worry, Handsome. See you around.” And this time she really did jump off the roof. He watched her land 20 stories below, and start running south along the remains of the road until she was out of sight. The steady chuff chuff chuff of the approaching vertibird jolted him , reminding him he’d better move quickly or have to explain why he was standing on a roof in downtown Boston stark naked. 

He didn’t see her standing in the shadow of a derelict truck, watching the vertibird fly away with the man she had saved. Pulling the blue dogtag from her pocket, she read, “Maxson, Arthur, Elder “. 

“Hmmmm”, she mused. “Well isn’t that interesting.”

 

“Where did you get the vertibird?” No answer. “How did you know where to find me?” 

Still no answer. “I know you’re not deaf.” 

Click. A gun cocked against the side of his head. The girl she called Tara stood behind him. “She’ll talk to you when she’s ready. Get comfortable. Might not be today.” 

Tara was young, maybe 20 he thought. Slim, athletic. Light on her feet, despite her leg injury. Probably a knife person though a shotgun was slung over her shoulder. An unknown quantity. He had already seen her competence with a minigun. Confident but alert. Had the woman trained her?

Damn that woman was something. He had pulled some heavy duty close quarters combat moves on her and she hadn’t given an inch. Gave him a damn bloody nose. Kept her cool. Fierce. Angry. Coldly vicious when she took out the raider who had killed her crewmember. Compassionate tending the wound on Tara’s leg. Injecting stimpaks in Tara, herself, and surprisingly him, with the ease of someone who had done it a lot.

From where he was sitting, he watched her carefully and awkwardly wrapping the dead crewmember in a blanket. She gently tucked the last end under his feet, and knelt there on the flight deck beside the corpse with her head bowed for a long moment. Finally she turned watching him steadily with cold brown eyes. 

“Lieutenant Steven Case of the Minutemen Militia gave his life to save you, Elder Arthur Maxson of the Brotherhood of Steel. I hold you responsible to him, to give like justice for his life. To contemplate the enemies he would have killed, people’s lives he would have saved, and a world he would have made better. If he were still here.

“He is still here.” murmured Tara. “Minutemen never die.”

“He is still here”, agreed Christine.

He watched them thoughtfully. If the Minutemen were all this close knit and well-trained, they may not be the easy marks he thought they would be.

 

She wheeled around and stalked toward him, stopping only a few feet away.

“Now, Elder Arthur Maxson, we saw you go down. Are you too grand a person to think anyone on the ground would have the nerve to shoot you down? Where’s the rest of your crew? Where were you headed?”

He remained silent, levelling his most unnerving stare at the woman. She seemed quite unimpressed. Could it be possible she didn’t remember him? Granted he was living off stimpaks at the time, but he thought he had performed remarkable well. His mind drifted back to when they had met. She had to remember him. He couldn’t forget her. Months had passed and he still could not forget her.

He still wasn’t talking. He was staring off into space like a damn Brahmin. Christine gritted her teeth and turned away. It was most definitely him. Warmth welled up inside her and she felt her heart pounding. But it didn’t matter. She knew exactly who he was looking for and what he wanted. This was not going to end well, so let’s not even begin it. Squash those feelings away girl, and show you don’t know him. 

As if I could. She turned around to find him staring directly at her. 

“I traveled to the Castle to meet with the General of the Minutemen. She wasn’t there, though I had been told she would be. The minutemen there assured me she would be at a place to the southwest called Somerville Place. She was not there. These settlers were convinced she was at a place called Oberland Station. Where she was not. I requested the minutemen stationed there to locate her by radio, but it would seem the weather has been affecting your lines of communication, so radioing her was not an option. “

By now, Christine was listening with an amused smile on her face. Her people could see at a glance that this man was not to be trusted. “You seem determined to find the General. I’m surprised you haven’t given up by now.”

He stared at her coldly and levelly. “I don’t give up. Anything. Ever.”

“Hmmmmmmm. So how did you end up crashing your paper airplane into a raider’s camp?”

“Headed to Sanctuary. A settler at Oberland said the General calls Sanctuary home, before the woman next to him swatted him with a newspaper. So I was headed to Sanctuary and got shot down.”

“So will you be needing a lift to your airport, now that your bird is down?”

“No,” Maxson stated flatly. I will be going to Sanctuary.”

“Hmmmmmm.” Christine regarded him thoughtfully.

She turned and walked back to her vertibird. He watched as she radioed Steel Tower and told them he had survived the attack and was currently being guarded by Minutemen until the Brotherhood could come and retrieve him. She made him sound like a helpless little boy who couldn’t find his mommy at the market. Angrily he strode over to her and snatched the handset away.

“This Elder Maxson. Don’t bother sending another ship to ‘retrieve’ me”, he ground out. “Once this nice officer sees me safely to her General, I’ll drop a signal grenade for pick up. Elder out.”


	5. Leadership and learning are indispensable to each other- JFK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever thought you knew someone, only to learn the part you knew was only the tip of a very large and still evolving iceberg? Me neither.

Chapter 5.

Tara stared at him in shock. Switching her glance to her pilot, she was shocked again to see the woman staring at this bossy Elder, a slow smile spreading across her face. Tara took a few steps back. Oh this was not going to be pretty.

Tara had dogged the General’s footsteps since the moment she and her family had arrived in Sanctuary. They’d been injured, tired, starving, and her father and older brother had just died fighting off Raiders so she and her mother could escape. The General welcomed them with open arms, walked with them to the cafeteria for supper, and then sat there listening to the story of the little family’s long, bloody sojourn to their last hope for peace- this settlement. The General had then kissed the top of Tara’s head and whispered, “I’m so glad you two made it.” A very strange, almost frightening smile was on the Generals face as she gestured to two men, who both grabbed guns and followed her. They disappeared across the settlement’s bridge.

It was late the next morning when the General returned, flying a junky vertibird that was barely aloft. She and her crew were covered with blood and burn marks. The General spoke briefly with Colonel Garvey, then turned to Tara and her mother.

That night there had been a special ceremony to bury her brother and father. The General had killed the raiders herself, and recovered her father and brother’s bodies. Tara now carried two heavily modified guns that had previously belonged to the very raiders that had killed her family. The General had gifted them to her after the ceremony. She had even taught Tara how to do the mods. Tara had been the General’s shadow since. 

The General fought and outwitted many enemies, often with Tara close behind. She had seen that smile many times before, strange and frightening, usually right before all hell broke loose. “I’ll just go assess the wreckage of the other ship, then report it for salvage.” She scooted off.

“You just invited yourself onto my ship and demanded I fly you to Sanctuary, all without even saying a word to me. Impressive. Christine said conversationally. ‘Stupid’ was not the first word that came into my mind when I first saw you. I usually don’t misjudge a person so completely.” 

She was still smiling. If deathclaws could smile, they’d look like this, he thought. “Misjudging seems to be your strong suit. I’ve been looking for you all day. General.”

She didn’t even flinch. “I get that a lot. Believe me, when you meet the real General, you’ll know it. Hope your skills of misjudging are even worse then. “

Maxson stared at her. He had been so sure! He recovered quickly. “May I have your name and rank soldier? And will you please fly me to Sanctuary so I may meet with your General?”

Such pretty manners. “Christine Christopher, General of the Commonwealth Minutemen. Welcome aboard.”

 

“I swear I didn’t breathe the whole trip back. She flew the warbird home as calmly as you please, and he rode in the rear seat in silence, but the air felt like it was on fire! I don’t ever want to be in the same room as them ever again!” Tara shuddered.

Cait listened to Tara with her eyes blazing. The fiery redhead grabbed up her favorite gun and headed for Minuteman HQ. This was the gun for the job, she mentally snarled. A gift from Christine, “Spray and Pray” as it had been named, spat out an automatic hellfire of exploding bullets. 

Cait burst in the door and leveled her gun at Maxson’s face. “Apologize”, she gritted out. “Or I will send you to the bloody flaming hell that spat the likes of you out! I’da kicked you from the bird and good riddance! Be on your best manners here boy, or I will end you like Christine shoulda!!”

There it was again, that deathclaw smile. Maxson seethed. She’s sitting back to see how I handle this. 

Preston Garvey, the man the General had introduced as her second in command, stood up. “General…” he began.

“I’ve got him Cait.” Christine said quietly, laying a hand on her friends arm. “As a matter of fact, I was just about to introduce him at the fire. Come with?”

“Yeah, I’ll introduce him to the fire”, Cait muttered. 

 

The settlers were having a raucous time at the fire. MacCready was standing on a bench loudly singing ‘All the Small Things’, playing …wait. Was that her guitar??!!! “ROBERT JOSEPH MACCREADY!!!” she bellowed.

“Surprises let me know she cares!” he swung to face her. “Say it ain’t so, I will not go, turn the lights off, carry me home! Nanananana... Hey Babe! About time you got home!” 

She jumped up onto the bench beside Rob. “You’re touching my guitar! How many times have I told you not to touch my guitar?!”

“One time too few! Nanananana!”

He really had a great singing voice. The crowd of settlers who had been loudly and joyfully singing and clapping along cheered at Christine. Grinning ear to ear, he handed her the guitar. “Your turn!”

“Thanks for the warning, BobbyJoe.” She grumbled in an undertone.” Do I not look tired?”

“And cranky! Beautifully, exhaustedly cranky! You know you can’t resist me and give me everything I want? Especially when it involves your music? You can’t resist your music! And don’t call me that. Call me your Hot Singing Loverboy!” 

She rolled her eyes. Damn the man. He was right. She loved her music. She especially loved how happily her settlers had taken to the tunes, so different from what they were used to.

She grinned at the crowd. “Is it Friday already?” she yelled.

“Yes!” they all chorused.

“GOOD! Damn it’s been a long week and we NEEED a night off!” Wild cheers erupted. Christine shushed them down. “First I need to introduce Elder Arthur Maxson of the Brotherhood of Steel. He’s here-“

The rest of what she was saying was drowned out with “Yes yes Hi new guy” and “Hi Arthur! No titles at the fire!”, and great whooping and hollering.

One person started calling out, “New Song! New Song!” and everyone joined in. She gave it up as a lost cause and shrugged to Maxson. “Welcome to Friday Night in Sanctuary! We recommend you have some fun!” More shouting followed. 

Kenna Derby, an older, motherly sort of woman, led the Elder to a seat on one of the mismatched chairs that made up what passed for seating at the fire. She patted his leg. “Now you relax and enjoy yourself. You look like someone who sure needs to.” She cheerfully hip-shoved her way onto a seat on a neighboring log.

Everyone quieted as Christine settled on the bench. “New song from my iPod “She was interrupted by someone yelling “I love iPod!” and someone else yelling “Shut up!” 

Christine absolutely loved Friday nights. Her people worked damn hard to bring peace and order to the chaos that was their lives in this wasteland. The worked, learned to trust and help each other, fought by each other’s side, welcomed new people into their homes and taught them how to survive together. Friday nights were free for cutting loose. Beer, songs, dancing, bad jokes, and heaps of food all had a place here Friday nights. 

She tuned the guitar. “Hot Singing Loverboy, if you insist on using my guitar, remind me to teach you how to tune it.” 

“Yes Ma’am!” Everyone laughed. 

“Ok, fast song to start out. Any Way You Want It by Journey, a really great band that died 200 years ago.” Everyone laughed. She slammed a hard chord. “Any way you want it, that’s the way you need it…”

Maxson was intrigued. So much to learn about her! He soon found himself smiling as the enthusiasm of the crowd washed over him. He’d never heard music like this before. At least he assumed it was music. It was rhythmic and people were singing…. He thought about what making music back at his airport would be like. Would a fire like this disrupt the discipline of his soldiers, inviting loose familiarity instead of the strict comportment required to perform their jobs properly? Yes it would. 

He quietly left the fire and headed for the room assigned to him for as long as he chose to stay. Garvey fell in step beside him. 

“Not everyone likes being in the middle of a noisy crowd, “he commented quietly. Maxson said nothing. 

Preston watched him walk off into the darkness.

 

“So is there no one in all of Goodneighbor who can sharpen a pencil?” Cait burst out laughing. “I can see you walkin from one person to the next askin for a pencil sharpener...” she laughed hysterically, “and not a soul knowin what you were about!” Preston, Rob, and Christine all joined in the hilarity, laughing until their sides ached. They were sprawled all over Christine’s living room. Empty whiskey bottles and the remains of a fruit fight covered the floor.

Rob rose unsteadily to his feet. “Madame, if I may use your toilet?” He promptly tripped over Dog and crashed onto the back of the couch Preston was draped on, which flipped on its back, tossing both men into an undignified heap on the other side. 

Cait and Christine howled with laughter. Dog jumped over the couch and began licking Preston’s face. His indignant sputtering only made the girls laugh more. 

Rob’s muffled voice squeaked out, “Get him off my head!” And off the girls went again, laughing madly, sides aching, and limp in their chairs. Christine fell off her seat with a thump, by now crying with laughter. 

“I still really need to pee”, Rob’s muffled voice squeaked pathetically, upside down behind the couch with Dog sitting on his head. 

Preston weakly waved Dog off. “Go on. Good boy. Go get Christine. Give her kisses.” He managed to gasp out between guffaws.

Dog galloped over to the two women, slobbered up the side of Christine’s face, then leapt into Cait’s lap and began licking her face furiously. 

Enraged Irish sputters came from behind Dogs enthusiastically bobbing head. “Ya stupid dog! Canna you tell...Stop that….which one of us is your master? Stop that! Chris make him stop! Dog I swear, I’m the one who’s….stop! Quit it you mutt! I’m going to kick your arse! Then hers! You’re all dead if you …aaaaagggh get off dog! If you don’t get him off me!!”

But Dog was done grooming his friend. He hopped down himself and curled up on the floor next to Christine, looking quite pleased with himself. Cait’s face was shiny with dog saliva, and one side of her hair stuck up oddly. She blinked like an infuriated owl. “Where’s. Me. Gun?” she ground out.

Christine used the chair to pull herself upright. She took a deep drink from her whiskey bottle and said, “If you’re going to attack my dog, I claim the right to defend him. Here- wait…” and she went wobbling and slipping down the hall. Preston, still chuckling, raised his eyebrow at Cait, who shrugged. They heard a loud thump, muffled cursing, a crash, more cursing, then Christine emerged red-faced with exertion, with her weapons of choice. 

“Pillows!” exclaimed Cait. “What the hell am OOOOOF!!?”

Christine smacked Preston next, then smacked Cait again for good measure. Coming from the bathroom, Rob tackled her from behind, causing her to fall face first into her armload of pillows. 

“Aww, you know you love me,” he lay there blissfully tangled with her amongst the pillows.

She floundered awkwardly up, fell down, and then struggled up with the aid of the same chair that had saved her earlier. 

“Dead man!” Cait bellowed, grabbing up two pillows and starting to beat on MacCready. Christine grabbed one and alternately smacked Cait then Rob. Preston grabbed three, launching them as hard as he could at his friends. 

“Get the pillow cannon!” Christine yelled, and she, Cait, and Rob attacked him.

Outside on a bench, Maxson listened to the hilarity in the house. Thumps, crashes, yells, oooomfs as pillows hit, more laughter and shouting. Again he wondered at the behavior of the General, and the complexity of the woman he thought he knew.

 

It was early morning when he walked quietly into their house. The guard whispered a polite greeting. Preston was lying half in a chair, half on the coffee table, snoring loudly. Cait had crashed, only partially clothed, on the couch. He picked up a jacket from the floor and gently laid it on the slumbering woman, covering her most exposed areas. MacCready was sleeping under the kitchen table with all of the pillows.

He found Christine in the furthest bedroom, carefully tucked in. He wondered if the guard had done it. These people had such a high regard for their leader, he didn’t doubt it. Her hair was tossed wildly across her pillow, her lips parted as she breathed softly in slumber. He knelt beside the bed. She smelled of sweat and alcohol, and that subtle scent he still couldn’t place. He felt his cock twitch as he leaned closer and inhaled as deeply as he dared. His eyes closed with memory and his cock twitched again. He leaned close to her ear and whispered, “Remember me. Please remember me.” He softly kissed her.

 

He was startled to feel her kiss him back. Her soft, warm lips caressed his. Her hand stole up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. He kissed her deeply, with all the longing he had felt with the months that had passed from their first meeting. His kiss told her of returning again and again to the bolt hole on the top of Hub 360 but never finding her there. Of sneaking away multiple times to search, though he didn’t have the first idea where to begin.   
“I remember you.” She whispered against his lips. Then she slept again.

 

Christine was watching Maxson with narrowed eyes as he haggled with Preston over supplies and concessions between the Brotherhood and Minutemen when the call came in. Tara knocked then burst in.

“Ma’am! Radio dispatch needs you immediately. Please hurry! We have a team in very bad trouble!”

Christine leapt across the table, scattering papers everywhere, then she was out the door. The men ran right behind her.

“Ma’am!” The dispatcher, a grizzled old man who had fought too many years in the Commonwealth, waved her closer. “Ma’am, we have two teams of 4 pinned in the area of Fallon’s. They report light casualties but don’t know how long they can hold out. There’s a huge gathering of supermutants- 40 or 50 they said.” He looked sharply at the Elder. “There’s a team of your boys holed up on th’other side. And one of your little vertibirds was shot down as soon as it arrived. Couldn’t tell if anyone survived. Hope not as their carcasses are currently lunch. The signal went dead while they was talking. I can’t get them back. I fear bad things Ma’am.”

Christine was already on the move. “Tara get Minder, Beckett, and James. I need my top team. Tell James to get into his T-60. Cait, suit up. You’re my co-pilot today. Rob did you mod my laser rifle? There’s another one in my bird. Switch them out. I want the new one. Preston did my bird get re-supplied yesterday?”

“Yes ma’am. Beckett did it during your first song. The man loves your bird almost as much as you do.”

“Good. Preston we’re gone. Send 3 backup and alert the artillery. “Preston tugged the last buckles of her armor tight, then stood back as she stepped into her power armor. It hissed closer around her. She turned to Maxson and jabbed her finger at the ship. “Go!” she yelled. “Get on!”

He had already grabbed his Gatling laser and was running to the field where the warbird was warming up. There were 4 more ranged in the field beside it, all in various stages of modification. How the hell did they get their hands on so many of our vertibirds, he wondered with irritation. Wait. Did she just give him an order? Son of a bitch. 

Christine exited her power armor on the bird and secured it behind her seat. She threw a wicked smile at Maxson then turned back to her second-in-command. “Not today,” she intoned.

“No ma’am”’ Preston agreed. “Not today. “ And they were gone.


	6. Sometimes you just need to grab your nuts and leap into the fray.- WTB

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Minutemen and Brotherhood have very different styles of fighting.

Chapter 6

The warbird swung a wide arc around the battle zone, then a tighter one much higher. 

“What do you got guys?” Christine shouted into the headset. “I got 6 people about to be peeled down by the wall, and 2 Brotherhood on the roof sniping.”

“2 more Brotherhood I think behind that mailbox. And it might be 3 guys on that roof.”

“Looks like raiders shooting from the old hospital, but I can’t tell who they’re shooting at.”

“Looks more like 60 supermutants to me. Damn they’re ugly.”

She pulled the bird back out, clear from the range of any munitions the supermutants may have.

Maxson was stunned. What the hell kind of battle plan was this? “What are you doing?!” he ordered. “Get in there and fight! Is this how you keep your precious baby looking so good? You never go into a real battle? I order you to get down there!”

She ignored him. “Cait, take over my guns. When I say to, I need you to shoot a nuke right into the very center of that mess down there. I need a clear spot. We’re doing an Iron Man.”

James whooped inside his power armor and waved his gauss rifle in salute. Minder and Beckett, on the mounted miniguns, yelled, “Yes ma’am!” At the same time Cait shouted, “It’s about damn time you taught me the fun stuff!”

Scowling, Maxson turned to Minder. “What’s an Iron Man?”

Grinning from ear to ear, the young man gripped the Elders shoulder. “If circles make you dizzy sir, make sure you throw up on them, not us.”

 

Cait was flipping through Christine’s iPod. “Good attack needs good tunes! Oh I got it-“. 

To the opening crashing rock of Def Leppard’s ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’ , Christine pushed the bird at top speed directly at the deepest concentration of supermutants in the center of the square, between the kill box of Fallon’s department store and the subway station, watching intently for any survivors. There could not be even one in her mental image of the oncoming attack, or she would abort. Not a one, she acknowledged with satisfaction. Those Brotherhood by the mailbox will be damn close though. She smiled at Cait. Cait laughed delightedly. Christine had that smile on her face. She was about to rain hell on someone. It was Cait’s favorite thing about her.

“But what if we die!” Minder yelled.

“Everyone dies someday!” Beckett’s deep voice shouted back.

“BUT NOT TODAY!” the entire team shouted together.

“Drop it right there Cait…NOW!”

The crater Cait blew was a beautiful thing, and in the perfect place. Not waiting for the dust to settle, Christine headed directly for it. One supermutant was firing his minigun directly at her windshield. The windshield cracked. 

“Take him out Cait or I will!” To her shock, Cait leaned out of the cockpit and let loose a deadly barrage from her cherished Spray and Pray. The mutant, and the ones on either side of him dropped like rocks under the exploding steel rain.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Christine screamed, hauling Cait back into the bird.

“Killing the one shooting at us!” Cait screamed right back.

“Next time do it with the warbirds guns, you idiot! I almost swallowed my heart back there!”

Their first attack may have surprised the brutes and taken out a good number of them, but they were rallying fast. Gunfire erupted all around them as the warbird dropped straight down into the center of the blasted crater. Minder shouted as a missile came right at him. He ducked, then returned fire, raking his minigun fire across the front line of enemies on his side. Beckett shouted as the missile came across his left shoulder, cutting straight through the warbird, then exploded among the supermutants on the other side. Another missile exploded against the tail of the warbird, jolting it off kilter, followed by a vicious volley of 5mm’s from another mutant’s minigun. As the supermutants regrouped, a deadly barrage of laser rifle fire inundated the ship. The mutants shouted and taunted the soldiers onboard.

“Die little bleeder! I’ll hang your guts around my neck!”, “This is what death looks like!”

James came to stand to the right of Minder, his power armor soaking up gunfire from that quadrant as he picked off enemies one by one. 

Surprised and fascinated with the General’s tactics, Maxson dropped to one knee beside Beckett. A Brotherhood vertibird would never had survived this kind of punishment. He braced himself against the doorway. Soon Gatling laser fire joined the fight.

“Here we go boys! Let’s show these green bastards the Gates of Hell!” The warbird began a slow counter-clockwise rotation, gaining speed, its mounted miniguns mowing down row after row of supermutants. 

As the warbird continued to spin, Maxson felt his equilibrium slipping and tasted bile on the back of his throat. He gripped the door frame and closed his eyes, willing his nausea to subside. He concentrated on the feeling of his knee touching the deck, and felt the dizziness leave him as his connection with stability overrode the spinning in his head. Firmly under control, he opened his eyes and let rip with laser fire. 

The mounted miniguns ammo slowly depleted, and the team took up their personal arms, returning fire with vigor.

Christine took the bird to a more comfortable height, some of her crew switching to sniper rifles to pick off the more stubborn supermutants, and mutant hounds that had been below the line of fire.

“Time for clean up?” Cait asked, reaching for her beloved gun.

“You got it. We take turns though.”

Cait grinned again. Sharing the real fun was the second thing she loved most about the General. 

“ME FIRST!” Christine shouted, a second before Cait. 

 

Christine set the Warbird down in the center of the square. Switching the warbirds main controls to her very disgruntled co-pilot, she stepped into her X-01 and launched her armored body toward the bloody group of Minutemen survivors by the wall. Snatching a look behind herself, she saw Beckett and the Elder hot on her heels.  
James and Minder fanned out behind them, alert for any supermutants hiding. They shot the dead and survivors alike. The General was very particular about being absolutely certain every supermutant they ever encountered was thoroughly dead. The beasts were tough, sometimes surviving to continue their killing sprees. No possibility of surviving supermutants. Ever.

Three missiles erupted, engulfing James and Minder. Molten flames and exploded bits of street rained upon them. Minder screamed. James turned to see his friend on fire, frantically beating at the fire that was rapidly consuming the left side of his uniform. His skin sizzled and spit. James stood helplessly, knowing that trying to beat out the flames with his armored hands would crush Minder. A form blurred past him and tackled Minder top the ground.

The Elder rolled into the rubble with the burning soldier. He frantically patted at the flames with his bare hands, then yanked off his coat to completely encompass the boy. The flames smothered and died. Keeping Minder firmly bundled in his coat, Maxson picked up the boy and ran for the ship. A hail of gunfire chased the Elder. He threw the injured boy into Beckett’s waiting arms and hung on as Cait rotated the ship to present its heavily armored rear to the triumphantly shouting supermutant on the roof of Fallon’s. “

James was moving around, his gauss rifle trained to his eye as he searched the roof for the source of the missile fire. He heard the General shouting.

“Get these people onto the warbird!” she yelled as she pounded past. He turned, seeing the surviving Minutemen and Brotherhood huddled behind the wall they had been so recently tortured against. 

Luckily Cait saw them too, and moved the bird as close as she could, angling the ship to protect the injured group from the continued barrage from the roof. Ducking gunfire, she helped James support, and in some cases carry the bloody mob aboard. Despite its powerful capabilities, this much weight was going to seriously overload the warbird.

The Elder leapt off the ship, crawling behind the wall, looking for some sign of Christine. Instead he saw three of his Brotherhood soldiers yelling and gesturing from the top of the rail station. They were shouting encouragement across the square to where a supermutant was grappling with a power-armored figure on the roof of Fallon’s. Two of the soldiers had their rifles trained on the pair, but the combatants were moving too much for them to get a clean shot. 

A chair slammed against the power-armored figures shoulder, almost knocking him from the roof, three stories up. Maxson shouted in horror. Her, not him! That was X-01 armor! Holy Hell, Christine was up there on the edge of the roof with a supermutant! 

He took off running for the stairwell that led to the roof. Christine’s gauss rifle spun from the roof, smashing on the cracked road below. The supermutant was on the ledge now, pummeling her violently. He bellowed, pounding his chest in victory. The supermutant was going to kill her. She was fighting her last battle and would lose. He wouldn’t even make it to the stairwell. He was too late.

The supermutants shout changed to shock as Christine grabbed the front of his chest harness and threw her entire armored weight off the roof, dragging him with her.

Maxson watched in horror as the two figures crashed brutally into the ground. No one moved. No one spoke. The steady chuff of the warbird’s rotors became the beat of his heart as he raced to the motionless pile of rendered green flesh and twisted armor. Gunfire pocked the broken street around him when he reached her but he was oblivious. He vaguely acknowledged his Brotherhood soldiers shooting down raiders at the hospital, where the cowards had hidden until the worst of the threat had been eliminated by the Brotherhood and Minutemen allies.

She lay face down in the pulpy green remains, her helmet motionless against her gauntlets, still entangled in the mutant’s chest armor. Praying he was not doing more damage with his actions, he turned the release valve on the back of the X-01 armor. With a hiss and scraping of metal on metal it grudgingly, haltingly opened. 

She was breathing! He almost cried out in relief. Instead he jabbed a stimpak into where her shoulder muscle was the thickest, then a med-x into her left butt cheek. She groaned weakly. As she gained strength, she started to curse.

“…banged my goddamn face…” She struggled to sit up, only to be foiled by her angle in her armor. “Sonofabitch thing has my…” The rest of what she was saying was muffled as she painfully wedged herself back into her armor. Activating the inner release, the armor closed back around her. 

The Elder stared in shock as she retreated from view. He was suddenly aware that the gunfire had stopped and the Brotherhood and Minutemen were gathered around the again motionless General.

More muffled bitching suddenly erupted from her armored coffin as Christine rocked, fought and thrashed her way to a standing position.

“..MMMMRFRR BRRBBMMMFFF SMMMUUMMMFFFTT…” The power armor hissed open and Christine tumbled backwards from it, right into the hastily raised arms of the Elder. “…then SOMEONE jabs me in the ASS with a FUCKING STIMPAK!!! What the HELL is the MATTER WITH YOU GUYS!!!”

“It was Med-X”, he chuckled with relief. 

She twisted his arms and socked him weakly in the shoulder. “You stabbed my ass with a Med-X?! You great overbearing bully! You are never allowed to do that again without my permission!”

And she passed out cold.


	7. Nemo Resideo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The General and Elder are left behind, as the warbird struggles to safety.

Chapter 7

Anna was laughing at her again.

Elliott was scrubbing the pathetic job Christine had done with the makeup off her face. “You are the most hopeless excuse for a lady I know”, he muttered. “This is terrible. Good heavens girl, I’m a better woman than you!”

“Shut it Elliot. Making her feel bad won’t help. It’s getting late. We can try again tomorrow.”

“No!” Christine almost shouted. She rubbed her smarting face in a towel. “I can do this. I’m not a three year old child. Women much younger and less intelligent than me have mastered the art of applying makeup. I can too. “ 

“Hmmmmm. Temper tantrum of a three year old, makeup skills of a three year old….. Well, you know what they say- If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s a duck. Though I wonder if a duck wouldn’t have better luck at this than you, pet.”

Christine pegged a compact at Him. “I know exactly what you’re doing, Mister Clever. Make it a challenge and I can’t help myself. So I fight the fight til I win, or die trying. I hate that you know me so well. But that only works for sports, smart ass. And classwork. And at the pub. “

“And playing songs on your keyboard or your guitar after only hearing them a few times. “ 

“I’ve won a lot of money with that one”, she snarked with great satisfaction.

“And that stupid sleeping bet with Mike down the hall. You didn’t sleep for 5 days. What about disassembling the Dean’s bike fastest? Oh here’s my favorite. How sick were you after eating 16 cheeseburgers to beat a 10 year record that was only 12 to begin with?”

Christine slouched down in her chair, arms crossed. She scowled. “Shut up. You’re a jerk. “

Anna leaned over and patted her leg. “Don’t worry, you’ll be up again soon.”

“What?” 

“You’re going to be fine.” Anna spread Christine’s eye wide and shined a light into it. 

“What are you doing? Cut it out? Let go of my face, you wacko! You’re cut off. No more beer for you.” She thrashed out, trying to shove Anna’s hands away from her face. 

Christine jolted awake. Some unknown man was smiling down into her face. “Ok, no more beer for me. I do take umbrage to being called a wacko though.” He helped her sit up.

A warm hand settled on her leg. “General,” Maxson said. “This is Knight Captain Cade, Doctor to the Brotherhood of Steel for 40 years.”

“Yes. I delivered this fine young man you see before you. The Elder’” he paused, staring pointedly at Maxson, “signaled us. We arrived only moments after 3 of your Minutemen vertibirds got here. I came specifically because our Elder, “he stressed Maxson’s title again and gave him another stern look, “has been gone LONGER THAN ANTICIPATED AND NOT CHECKED IN. Then he dropped a medical emergency signal grenade. You can be damn sure I was going to one of the responders.”

Maxson went rigid. He walked to the door. “Knight Captain Cade, I would like to speak to you privately.”

Christine studied Maxson as left the room. Wow, she thought, He sure can snap on his game face in a hurry. She had thought she had him pegged, but the cold man who stalked out the door was a different animal entirely. 

 

She was overseeing the loading of the last of the rescue warbirds when Dr. Cade walked stiffly to the Brotherhood vertibird, and took off without a word. She waved to the last rescue bird as it too took off. All that was left now was her bird, Maxson, Cait, and Beckett. James had been given permission to accompany Minder’s body back to his family. James Paul Minder had died in combat, succumbing to the deep burns that covered more than half of his body. The twisted wreckage of Christine’s power armor was also on that flight, though she held out only the smallest hope it could be repaired. 

“Nice job Cait. Beckett. Elder. You were all outstanding.”

“How can you even say that Christine?” Cait spat out bitterly. “One of our very best died so badly. I shot him with stimpaks trying to save him, but I know now all I did was makin him suffer the longer. We were too late to save 3 Minutemen from bein peeled by those green nightmares, another died bein shot by those bastards in the hospital while we were trying to load them in the bird.”

She turned her angry eyes to the Elder. “How many did you lose? A vertibird full and part of another team was it?”

“Two teams”, he answered quietly. “4 soldier crew from the vertibird, 4 of 5 from one recon squad, 2 from another.” He met the eyes of each of them. “And you did an outstanding job, just as the General said.”

Cait’s mouth opened, but the Elder cut her off. “You freed 4 Minutemen and 4 Brotherhood soldiers from the terrifying prospect of a grisly, tortured death. You ended 80 of the most vicious killing machines in the Commonwealth, saving the hundreds of people they would have gone on to kill.” He held Christine’s eyes. “The Commonwealth is a better and safer place for the sacrifices of our fallen. We will find justice for them. They would have gone on, continuing to make a difference.”

“If they were here.” Beckett mumbled.

Christine reached out to the grieving man. “Minutemen never die. They are here.”

“And so are you, “the Elder added quietly.

 

The mini nuke hit without warning. Christine, Beckett, Cait, and the Elder were all thrown violently across the broken roadway. Gunfire spat across the dazed crew. Red lights flashed from the Warbird’s control panels as the leg of the left landing skid crumpled. Cait’s eyes widened as bullets tore into her leg. His arm hanging at an odd angle, Beckett scrambled behind the wounded warbird, and clumsily tried to return fire on the shouting raiders. Christine knew she should be able to hear the alarms and and gunfire and Cait’s screaming, but everything sounded so far away. Her ears were ringing and felt like they were stuffed with barbed wire cotton. Blood was sheeting into her eyes and pain tore savagely at her skull. Maxson was pulling her toward the wall. She didn’t want to go there. 

Kicking at him, she launched toward Cait, a stimpak in her outstretched hand, but he wouldn’t let go. She jabbed wildly at her injured friend. Feeling the needle hit flesh, she prayed she had hit Cait. Beckett’s mouth was open and he was gesturing frantically behind her. Raiders were pouring from the hospital, running triumphantly toward their prize. Maxson dragged her behind the wall.

Her sluggish brain kicked back into gear. The raiders wanted the warbird. They wanted to be able to rain hell on whomever they pleased, killing, destroying. She could see clearly in her mind the settlers dying in fear, seeing their loved ones killed and worse, as the raiders tore through the settlements obliterating all they had worked so hard to create, annihilated by the very warbird that had formerly brought them justice and peace.

“GO! GO!” she screamed at Beckett. “GET CAIT! GET THE BIRD OUT OF HERE! GO! DEAR GOD GO!” 

Her head felt like it was splitting in two. Beckett was waving for them to get to the ship. It was too far and the raiders too close. “NO!” she screamed again, “GO! GODDAMNIT GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!” 

Understanding dawned on his face. He stared at the triumphantly shouting raiders, then yanked Cait into the pilot’s seat and took the co-pilot for his own. He flipped the switch giving the controls back to the pilot. Cait struggled to leave the seat, screaming and gesturing to where the Elder was holding Christine behind the wall. Beckett slapped her, then slapped her again. She swung a fist at him but he grabbed her arm. He was yelling into her face. With one last agonized look over her shoulder at her dearest friend trapped behind the wall, she turned to the controls and the warbird lifted awkwardly from the ground.

The raider’s cries of victory quickly changed to disbelief and anger. The warbird hovered just out of range. They howled and started firing madly at the ship. Maxson prayed the mini nuke was the only one they had. He ducked and shoved Christine’s head to the ground. The warbird had circled back and was emptying the last of the ammo in its forward guns into the confused and panicked raiders out in the open in front of the hospital. It was Cait, trying desperately to protect her friend huddled behind the wall. Unable to pull up, the warbird clipped the roof of the hospital, tearing off the right landing skid. Rubble rained down on the thwarted raiders. It circled one last time, then flew unsteadily north, toward Sanctuary.

The Elder’s eyes snapped back to Christine as he felt her hand, flat against his chest, shove his back against the wall. Blood still dripped down the right side of her face from a nasty gash above her eyebrow, but her eyes were clear and cold, her jaw set. Not glaring, but steadily regarding him, measuring him with a look both flat and even. He saw her now. This was The General. The woman who ruthlessly exterminated raiders, gunners, queen mirelurks and deathclaws to create safe havens for the hundreds of people she defended every day. She dealt death and justice with one hand, understanding and encouragement with the other. She had no desk, no office protectively tucked away in a safe airship like the Prydwyn. Her paperwork was the gun in her hands, her reports were the smiles on the faces of weary settlers as they felt hope for the first time in their lives. He could see in her eyes that she herself meant nothing. Her only purpose was to destroy anything that posed a threat to her people. And she was weighing him as a threat. The warm, exciting woman from the top of Hub 360 was not here. The General was.


	8. You only live twice- once when you're born, and once when you look death in the face. -Ian Fleming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They actually make a very effective team, when they're not trying to kill each other.

Chapter 8  
She dismissed him with her eyes. He had physically kept her from defending her crew and that was unforgiveable. Cait and Beckett were badly injured, and had to fly an unstable craft, eventually having to land it on no skids. Dear God she prayed, if I have done anything worthy in this life, I beg you to please land them alive and safe in Sanctuary. Christine stabbed a stimpak into her leg and tossed it away. The pain in her head began to subside. Not much, but enough. The deathclaw smile curved her lips.

There. Close. An intact gun. She slithered across Maxson’s body, keeping close to the wall. Reaching the dead supermutants body, she pried the laser rifle from his stiffening fingers, then rifled through his bloody pouches for ammo. Good. Even this few was a good start. Her brain automatically began assessing the gun and making mental notes for modification, even as she was locating raiders by the sound of their voices issuing taunts and threats. 

“Come on out. I’ll make it nice and quick. You can trust me.”

“Only a coward hides!”

“Where’d that little bitch go?” A bullet chipped the cement wall right above her head. She didn’t even flinch.

A hand reached over the wall, grabbing her hair. “I’ve got you now!” the raider shouted triumphantly, trying to drag her to a standing position. Christine grabbed his hand tightly with both of hers and dropped, rolling heavily onto her back, pulling the surprised raider with her. She slammed her feet against his chest, and as he sailed over her, shot him point blank in the face. She rolled back to a crouch behind the wall, darted up and fired 3 quick salvos at the building, taking out 2 raiders. Then she ducked and scooted toward the next gun.

Holy Hell! He was shocked. He could see now why she was their General. She fought like a psycho. She’d had no thought of protecting herself from the deadly raider as she dealt death and kept moving. A hunting rifle clattered across the broken pavement toward his leg, followed immediately by 2 partial magazines of ammo. Gunfire erupted from the hospital, blasting the wall he sat behind. Damn the woman! Where the hell was she now?

He spotted her behind the remains of an old bus, silently mocking him. Son of a bitch! She had used him as a distraction and zipped across the open street to cover closer to the hospital. She armed him, but made him a target at the same time. Son. Of. A. Bitch. He set his jaw. Was this how she wanted to play it? Fine. Let’s play. 

The raiders had a game plan of their own. They threw a body out the window, snatching it up before it hit the ground by a chain attached to the meat hook deeply embedded in its back. Christine could hear bones snap as it jerked abruptly. It was a woman. Her ragged dress was in ribbons, sliced through to the mutilated flesh underneath. Blood dripped from her. Christine was horrified to hear the woman’s thin, weak scream. She was still alive! Oh god she was still alive!

The raiders howled with laughter.

“You’re next little bitch! Come out! “

“If you have caps, maybe we won’t hurt you!”

The General watched the blood slowly dripping from the feebly twitching body only a second before making her decision. She raised the gun to her cheek and sighted down the barrel. 

CRACK! 

The shot echoed around the courtyard. The woman was dead, shot cleanly through her forehead. Christine’s eyes snapped to the Elder, who was even now switching his sights to the raiders clearly visible in the windows. She felt a moment of grudging respect. She had been about to end the suffering of the poor tortured woman herself when he had taken the shot. Taking a moment to silently respect, mourn, and make her promise to the woman, Christine returned her now deadly gaze to the raider’s lair. Go ahead, she mentally taunted them. Come back to the window.

 

Once inside the hospital, Maxson and Christine clashed again. Creeping silently up the main staircase, the General signaled Maxson to follow. He negated it, motioning her to follow him to a closed double door that also looked like it led into the main hospital. Gesturing vehemently, she repeated her earlier command. Again he disputed her plan.

“Get you sorry ass up here!” she hissed.

“No.”

OhmygodthatsorrymotherfuckingbastardisgoingtogetmyfootinhisassIhavehadenoughofhisoverbearingshit! She snarled silently. Can’ttakeanorderwon’tlistenthinksheknowseverythingstupidfucking…

He waved her to follow, then disappeared through the doorway.

Imma kill him, she vowed angrily. Maybe I’ll let them kill him. No, I Will Kill Him My Self. She slipped through the door behind him. 

It was an empty hallway, with two vending machines and a huge hole in the ceiling. The elevator shafts were filled with rubble, the far door blocked by the fallen ceiling. She smacked the back of his head. “Nice call genius.”

He glowered at her. “Do that again and I’ll break your arm.” She snorted. That felt good. Should have done it harder.

“Where would you like to go now, O fearless leader?”

He made a basket of his hands and went down on one knee. “Up.”

She flew up through the broken ceiling and crash landed half on the wall and half on a raider who had presumably been coming to investigate their less than stealthy noises. Jumping to her feet, she slammed the butt of her gun into his face twice. Nope. Still breathing. SLAMSLAMSLAM! Better. She snagged the dead raider’s supplies and kicked the body through the ceiling hole at Maxson. 

“Ok gorilla man. Nice launch. That’ll cost you.”

He smirked. 

Turning from his insufferable face before she threw more than a raider at it, she picked up the raider’s pathetic pipe pistol, ammo, and lead pipe and crept down the hall in the general direction of the nearest raider voice. Two sets of stairs, an elevator ride, eight raiders and two turrets later she was stuck. No more ammo and another fucking pair of turrets. She could hear gunfire and the raider’s cocky taunts somewhere in the rooms behind her. Well shit.

She pegged the pipe rifle at one of the turrets and didn’t even come close. Bullets spattered the doorway as she ducked back to safety. Elliot was right. She threw like a girl. Thank god it wasn’t a grenade of she would have hurt herself. Pondering on whether it was worth it to throw the lead pipe, she didn’t hear the door behind her silently open, or see the bat swinging at her head. She saw nothing.

 

“Well she definitely came this way”, he muttered, reluctantly admiring the number of dead bodies in this single room. And 2 turrets, with more raiders dead down below. She was remarkable. Maybe he would forgive her for smacking him in the back of the head. He scowled. Maybe not. That was out of line.

Where the hell did they all go? Other than the turrets he just blew up, he hadn’t seen a single enemy in the two floors he had explored. Exiting the final elevator on the top floor of the hospital, he looked around warily. No one. Not even Christine.

A burst of shouting and coarse laughter came from a door at the end of the hall. A woman cursed and screamed. She screamed again. 

No…

“Come on girlie! I know what a bitch like you wants…” More shouts followed.

“Cut her again!”

“Cut her eye out!”

“No I want her to see this. But she doesn’t need her arms for what I got planned.” She screamed again. “Thatta girl. Wake up. I want you to feel this.”

Maxson felt his blood freeze. The raiders had her. They had Christine.

He cursed at himself. A smart man would have had a plan before he even entered the building. A good leader would have put her in her place immediately. She was a subordinate whether she liked it or not, and needed to follow his lead without question. He gritted his teeth. A good partner would have been right there with her as she followed HIS plan to clear out this miserable infestation.

Instead he had launched her up into hostile, unknown territory, with a head injury, wearing only battered combat armor over her clothes, and carrying a gun with only a few rounds of ammo. He had known there was no way she could have hauled him up through the ceiling, and had felt satisfaction knowing she would have had to wait for him to catch up. He should have known she wouldn’t wait. She was fearless, and too damn comfortable operating on her own. He should have assessed her as a soldier and taken her qualities into account on this mission. Instead he had settled back to watch her, see her lead, teach, care, and create. But in her, heart she was a solitary creature. And he had let her go.

The doors slammed open with his first kick. Six raiders were gathered around a desk by the north wall. He knew she was on it, but didn’t trust himself enough to look.  
They were still scrambling for their weapons when he bulled into the first man, knocking him aside to grab the raider standing between her bare legs. With a vicious twist, he snapped the filthy animal’s neck and tossed him to the floor. The female on the other side of the desk who had been slashing designs into Christine’s arm, threw her knife directly at his face. He grunted at he felt it nick his cheek. Crashing two chairs, one after another at the woman’s chest, he stunned her, then leapt around the desk to kick her head in. Four to go.

Bullets bounced off the armored plates of his battle coat, bloodstained from the burning young man he had tried to rescue, and he ran for the door. He needed to get the gunfire away from his helpless partner. 

Shells were still hitting him. He swung around, firing 2 of his last 4 precious bullets into the chest of a raider who had entered the fray behind him. Goddamn it! Where had he come from? Situational awareness, he berated himself. Pay attention Arthur!

Still 3 in the room with her. Snatching the combat shotgun from the dead raider’s hands, he wheeled and pumped off rounds into the raider who had leapt into the doorway, until the chamber clicked empty. Only three, but at this close range, it had been more than enough to do the job. He threw the empty shotgun at the next raider who was also trying to sneak in the doorway while his back was turned and snatched up his last kill’s rifle. The raider scuttled back in alarm.

A shrill cackle of laughter drew his attention. “Give him your gun or I will slice her neck right now!” 

He had to look at Christine now. There was no other way. 

Her leather pants were gone. He vest had been sliced up the middle carelessly, exposing her bruised breasts, and a cut that ran the length of her torso, to the bloody tuft of hair between her legs. Her left arm had 4 deep scores in a tribal pattern. There was a deep purple welt swelling on the side of her head. She was completely immobilized. Her bloody ankles had been tied to two of the desk legs, and her wrists tied together. She was bent painfully backward across the desk, and her tied hands drawn over her head and secured to the desk. Her eyes were on the scrawny female raider holding the knife against her throat. 

“Do.Not.” Christine rasped out.

“SHUT UP YOU FILTY BITCH!” The female raider screeched into Christine’s face, spraying her face with spittle.

It was all Maxson needed. As the female raider broke eye contact to scream at Christine, he fired a .308 round directly into her face, then spun and shot his last round into the final man, who a second ago had been eagerly reaching to take his gun.

 

She was watching him. He gently cut the ropes on her wrist, then the ones on her ankles and helped her stand. When she couldn’t, he hooked a chair over with his foot and set her gently in his lap. He lifted her briefly to settle his coat around her and drew her close. She resisted, her body stiff, her eyes still watching his. She snarled when he reached into the coat. He froze, then slowly pulled out the stimpak he had been after and showed it to her. 

Her eyes watched him carefully insert the needle into her leg and depress the plunger. He set it on the desk   
behind him. 

“See? Leg. Not butt cheek.” He smiled at her.

Her staring eyes filled with tears. She started shaking. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, rocking gently. 

“It’s ok. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. It’s ok”, he murmured soothingly. She buried her face in his neck and silently cried. He could feel the moisture against his neck. Her body heaved with great wracking, soundless sobs. Every muscle in her body tightened until he thought the bones would snap, then relaxed as she drew another lungful of air, and tightened again. Over and over, each voiceless wail tearing through her body. He had never met anyone who cried with no sound.

He didn’t know how to help her. All he could do was hold her. He gently rubbed her back, hoping she hadn’t been hurt there. Who was he kidding? He’d seen the day she’d had. She hurt all over. Now her heart as well as her body.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you. You’re not alone. They’re all dead. You’re going to be ok.”

Exhausted, she relaxed into his body, letting his low voice calm her. He continued to rock and softly stroke her back. She listened to his breathing. In and out, strong and steady.

She reached up and tenderly caressed his cheek. She could feel him smile as he snuggled her closer. He turned his head and lightly kissed her fingers. She sighed and rested her hand on his chest.

“I was helpless Arthur.”

He continued to gently rock her.

“Arthur I couldn’t do anything! I can’t be helpless! I have to fight back! I could see what they were doing to me. I could feel their cold knives as they cut my clothes off. I felt pain when they cut me and hit me. There was nothing I could do to stop them. Not a thing, “she said, tearing up again.

Aaaah that was it. She had been totally and completely vulnerable. He had known her only 2 days, and seen first-hand how she turned every attack back on her enemy. The raider who had her by the hair, the supermutant on the roof, his own heavy-handed attacks when they first met, even turning Cait’s attack on her dog into a pillow fight. She always found an opening, a weakness to exploit, a way to win. She was never without a way to fight back. She never gave up.

The raiders had taken that from her. They had physically immobilized her in a position she couldn’t even twitch in. He thought of the blood on her ankles and wrists, and how she must have struggled and struggled, inevitably having to come face-to-face with the cold truth that she had been defeated. She had been helpless, and that was so much more painful to her than anything they could have done to her body.

“They couldn’t understand anything I said. Every time I confused them, they hit or grabbed or cut me. It was like trying to reason with a rock. I was so, so HELPLESS! I was a prisoner,” she choked on the word, “to that pointless handful of dullards. Then their ridiculous leader starting threatening me with his pathetic little schmeckel! Like that would make any difference? “

He choked. “Schmeckel?”

“What?”

“Schmeckel? Is that the same thing as a cock?”

“Are you laughing at me?”

“Where do you come up with these things?! Schmeckel!” He started to laugh.

‘Arthur!” Christine sat up straight and glared at him. 

He couldn’t help it. With her tousled hair and incredulous eyes, she looked like an indignant bird. He laughed harder.

“Are you KIDDING me?! You are such a jerk!” She struggled out of his lap and threw his coat at him. Her own clothes has to be here somewhere.

“No no no! I’m sorry!” He swallowed down his laughter. “Really. It just so incongruous in that moment for you to come out with that word. I mean it. I’m sorry.”

She glowered at her torn clothes, then wadded them up and threw them at him. “That was my favorite vest” she muttered. She yelled at Maxson. “Cait gave me that vest!” She stomped over to one of the dead raiders and kicked him solidly in the shoulder. “Now I have to wear your stupid clothes!” The dead raider didn’t answer. She kicked him again.

He could not hide his grin as he offered her a can of water. It was such a relief to have her back. He had been worried to his soul that being captive to the raiders had irreversibly damaged her incredible spirit. She was extraordinary. She was like no one he had ever met before. He had never been so happy to be yelled at.

She struggled to put her combat armor on over the raider’s harness she now wore. Fingering a broken buckle she cursed. He tore a strip of fabric from another raider shirt and wordlessly handed it to her. He watched her fighting to tie a knot in it under her arm for a moment, then pushed her hands away and tied it himself.

“You can always ask for help you know.”

“Shut up.”

“Christine I mean it. “ He took another wad of fabric from the torn shirt, wet it, and gently started wiping the dried blood from her face. He was pleased to see the stimpak had done its job. The cut above her eye was almost completely healed, and the ugly welt from where the raider had hit her in the head was fading. “Hold still. I’m trying very hard not to accidentally hurt you. “ 

He continued. “No one can do everything by themselves. I have an entire team of soldiers to assist me. You delegate Minuteman business to Colonel Garvey, you’ve taught your settlement to function without you. You teach your people to shoot and fly and fight and take care of each other. But when things get serious, you handle it. Yourself. Just you. You didn’t wait for me down there. You’re used to taking care of things yourself so you did. Did you really think I wouldn’t be right behind you? You aren’t alone. Christine, you take care of so much and so many people. Who takes care of you?”

He was startled to see tears welling in her eyes again. He wiped one away with his thumb. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

They stood there silently watching each other. He could see her mentally digesting what he had said. She may not use anything he had said, but she was at least thinking about it. She leaned up and softly kissed his nose. 

“You had to use the stairs, didn’t you.”


	9. We Love the Things We Love for What They Are- Robert Frost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes as another person's world comes into focus, yours starts to blur.

Chapter 9

“No, we are leaving right now.”

“It’s dark. Traveling at night is too dangerous in the Commonwealth.”

“Staying in the vicinity of this many dead bodies will attract ferals. A shit ton of them.”

“It’s better to pick them off from up here-“

“Until they come up YOUR stairs.”

“-than run into a deathclaw or radscorpion in the dark. They are not MY stairs. You need to let that drop.”

“Well they’re not mine, O Fearless Leader. I didn’t even get a chance to use them. “

“You won’t on the way out either. I’m going to chuck you over the railing. We’re staying.”

“You’re staying. “

“Christine…”

She ignored him. “To the east of us is the Minutemen settlement of Jamaica Plains. Continuous feral problem. We’ve killed dozens, but they keep coming. I don’t know where the hell they keep coming from, but I can guarantee you our biggest influx of carrion eaters will come from that direction. Call me a sissy, but I am really not up for that right now.”

“A sissy? What the hell is that?” 

“Really Arthur? That’s what you took from what I just said?”

He stared at her for a moment, then continued. “There’s a Brotherhood outpost just east of that, and another north of Jamaica Plains.”

“They’re not always manned. We should talk about this. The settlers at Jamaica Plain could sure use some help dealing with the ferals. And supermutant patrols from this lovely godforsaken garden spot.”

“Christine, why didn’t you land on your feet?”

She stared at him. “What?”

“When you jumped off the roof with the supermutant, why did you land on your face instead of your feet? You wouldn’t have ruined your power armor.” Or given me a heart attack, Maxson thought wryly. “You know the legs are designed to absorb almost unlimited pressure. I watched you jump 20 stories from almost the roof of Hub 360 and take off running. Why didn’t you land on your feet here?”

“Oh. Where the hell did that come from? “

He shrugged.

“It was a tactical choice. He was easily the biggest supermutant I have ever seen, next to a behemoth. For my weight to off-balance his, I had to grab him and throw everything I had over the edge. And I had to get him beneath me to make certain he died in the fall. I’ve seen them jump from 5 stories and land on their feet and keep running, without power armor. They don’t need power armor. He was huge, mean, and too damn accurate with his missile launcher. And he killed my crewmember. I knew I would ruin my X-01. My goal was to smash him so hard that he couldn’t recover. To me there wasn’t a choice. My armor was a small price to pay to stop him from killing everyone I loved.”

He went very still. Everyone she loved? Did that include him?

Christine smiled. “Good try, but you didn’t distract me from the issues at hand. You and I need to talk about what the Minutemen and Brotherhood can do for each other.“ She was like a dog with a bone, he thought. 

He interrupted her again. “You love your crew a great deal.”

“Of course I do.” She gave him a puzzled look. “Don’t you love the people you work with? We spend a great deal of time together. We train, we fight alongside each other, we laugh at Beckett’s really bad jokes, and blow off steam together at Friday Night Fires. Did you know Cait has an incredible singing voice? When she sings some of her Irish songs, no one sings along because we all want to hear HER. I gave Jamie, that’s Minder, his first combat shotgun. He named it “Dogmeat”. He named every gun after that after a dog he wished he had. Provisioners have been watching for months for a young dog we could give him. And Lucas James wears size 15 boots. Do you know how hard it is to find boots that big?”

She went on. “I took care of Mike and Irene Beckett’s little girl when they went to Diamond City to get married. They named her Christine, after me. How humbling is that? I’ve worked and fought and built and planted alongside almost every single one of our settlers, in every... You’re laughing at me again!”

“I can’t sidetrack you with military tactics, but you get completely derailed when I ask about your people.” He smiled smugly. “I’ll remember that.”

Christine scowled at him. “Humpf.” She turned back to searching the body of one of the dead raiders, not trusting herself to look at his self-satisfied face without throwing something at him. “About two hours to our west is another Minuteman settlement built into what used to be an old marina. It’s called ‘Egret Tours’. I think that’s our best option. The only thing between us and them is a train depot full of supermutants. My thought is that if we can skirt to the north of it, there’s an abandoned railroad maintenance shed. It used to be guarded by a sentry bot and some protectrons, but we took care of them a while back. Patrols haven’t reported anything else taking up residence there, so if we make that a waypoint, we might be able to avoid trouble altogether. It’d be a good fallback point if supermutants do attack, and close enough to Egret Tours for the artillery there to take them out.”

“Artillery? You have artillery? Why the hell was that never reported to me? And may I remind you the artillery will take us out too, General.”

“Elder,” she said, throwing his title right back at him,” as the artillery shells are shot, they make a very distinctive FOOOM sound. We’ll be close enough to hear it and get into the maintenance shed. It’s solid brick. Or they may just send out militia, not artillery, for the same worries you have.”

He scowled at her. “I’m not worrying. I’m examining the merits of your proposed plan and pointing out flaws. And won’t your Minutemen be back here looking for you?”

“It’s ok Cupcake, you can worry all you want. I’ll take care of you. They would have radioed your Brotherhood as well. We can apprise them of our whereabouts from the settlement.”

“If your radios are up and running again. And what’s a cupcake? You didn’t make it sound like a good thing.”

She snickered. 

He was scowling again. “We should just stay put.”

“Did you miss the part about being awake all night fighting ferals? Arthur, I am heading for Egret Tours. The possibility of a handful of supermutants is a lot less exciting than endless ferals ALL NIGHT. If you don’t come with me, YOU’LL be up all night, by yourself, against them. No one to trade off guard duty with or cover you while you’re reloading. Feel bad for you, really I do. I might even have trouble sleeping in my nice comfy bed, in a solid building, surrounded by turrets and round-the-clock guards. You can use my old clothes for a pillow if you like. Oh wait. You won’t be sleeping. Right. Ooooooo, should your face be that red? That doesn’t look healthy.” 

He felt like his head was going to explode. “Sonofabitch woman! You are so stubborn! You would do it too! I know you would! Did you forget the part about deathclaws and radscorpions in the dark! Don’t you think ferals will come from all directions? And anything else looking for an easy meal? And you’d cheerfully abandon me just to get your way, wouldn’t you. Do you-“

She put up her hand. “Shush.”

“DID YOU JUST SHUSH ME??!!! WOMAN I SWEAR TO GOD-“

“General. You take that tone of voice with me, you’re damn skippy it’ll be the General answering you back. Now shush a second so I can-“

“SKIPPY?! WHAT THE HELL IS A …wait. What is that?”

They stared at each other. A faint whine died out then started again.

“Maybe a cat or something got in? How sad would it be that I find a puppy now. If it is, I’m naming it Minder.” Christine began slowly walking around the room listening intently. KA-LICK

“What are you doing?” she asked, startled. 

He fished a few more rounds out of a dead raider’s pocket and handed them to her with a cocked pipe pistol. “Do you think there’s any chance in hell whatever it is won’t want to kill us? Take this.” He reached for a gun on the dead raider behind him for himself.

“You’re right. Thanks.” She resumed her quiet exploration.

“Did you just tell me I’m right? Damn, I’m going to live on that for years.”

“Hey I’m a fair person. Do something else right and I’ll say it again.” She pulled up short. “Wait. It’s coming from over there. Please don’t be a feral, please don’t be a feral.”

“The cupboard.”

“The cupboard.”

With his gun, he motioned her to the side, then yanked the door open. They both froze.

They were pointing their guns at a child.

 

He was easily the filthiest little thing she had ever seen. Huge scared eyes watched them in terror from his putrid nest of rags, covered with feces, urine, and empty food boxes. Raw red lesions marred his little arms and legs. He was so encrusted with gunk it was impossible to tell what color his hair was, or what he was wearing. His face was smeared with brown muck, and Christine realized in horror that he had been trying to eat his own excrement to survive. He tentatively reached his grubby hand toward the Elder. 

The child was offering him a turd.

Maxson and Christine stared at each other. This had to be the child of the woman the raiders had tortured and hung out the window. She had probably taken refuge in the hospital. Unable to escape the raiders, she had pushed her baby into the cupboard so they wouldn’t find him. The little boy had silently sat in the dark, listening to his mother be tortured, eating what he could of their pitiful stash of food, finally resorting to eating his own offal when the food ran out. He had to have been in there three or four days at least, judging by the amount of waste.

Christine was surprised to see tears standing in the Elder’s eyes. He was so tough, so capable. An immovable rock a minute ago. He handled dead allies and enemies every day, with an aloofness she frankly admired. He never wavered from doing his duty. But here, in the face of this suffering child, he was moved. 

“Stay with him.” He barricaded the doors, then started sweeping the room for anything useful. 

She turned back to the boy. “OK little guy. Can you come out of there? We’re not going to hurt you. Come on out baby. It’s better out here. It’s alright, I’ve got you. You’re not alone. They’re all dead. You’re going to be ok,” Christine said, unconsciously echoing the words Maxson had used to soothe her own fears earlier. 

“Arthur!” she called. “I need something to help him decide to come out!” A candy bar came sailing across the room and smacked into the cupboard door, falling into her lap. The baby lunged for it.

Well, the little guy’s not afraid anymore, Christine thought, ruefully assessing the muck-encrusted baby, nestled comfortably on her now-only-slightly-less-muck-encrusted lap. He leaned trustingly against her chest and looked up at her with a happy smile on his face, his head leaving a large brown smear across the front of her clothes. Oh well. She wrapped her arms around him comfortingly and rested her cheek on his head. 

“Arthur! I’m going to need some more clothes!”

He chuckled.

 

In the end, they decided it would be too dangerous to stay in the hospital. Ferals would be arriving in droves, and with the child, they would not be able to fight. If they fell in battle, the child would be lost. They considered the small supply of items the Elder had scrounged. In the end, they took only a couple of weapons and all of the ammo. The settlers at Egret Tours would have everything else they would need, she assured him. The best they could do was hope like hell the supermutants were not alerted to their presence, and the deathclaws and radscorpions she had been threatened with earlier would not show up. 

They were almost to the maintenance shed when a burrow of molerats broke through the ground and attacked them without warning. The big beasts snapped their jaws, leaping to tear at their clothes and skin before disappearing into the ground, only to come in a different spot, and attack again. 

Christine danced around, trying to juggle the child and her gun, and still keep them both from getting hurt. The baby woke, screaming. Her unsighted hip-fires went wide, wounding only one molerat before she ran out of her meager supply of bullets. Hugging the baby to her chest, she ran full-tilt toward the brick shed. She turned and kicked frantically at a molerat that had followed them. 

The molerat exploded in a thick spatter of blood and bone. 

Trained from an early age to react instinctively to an attack, the Elder had quickly and dispassionately dispatched one molerat after another. One beast leapt up and sunk its teeth into his arm, brutally thrashing to tear out the meat. Maxson planted the muzzle of his rifle in the side of the molerats head, and despite the awkward position, coolly blew its head off. From where he now stood blocking the entrance to the maintenance shed, he picked off two more of the abominations. His trousers were ragged and bloody, and she knew his arm must hurt like hell, but he stood ready.

He relaxed. The threat had been neutralized.

Christine was trying to calm the baby. “How do they do it?” She was still breathing heavily from the exertion. “How did his mother even make it to the hospital?” The little boy was clinging to Christine like a monkey, still screaming. “Settlers come to us with terrible stories of their travels. Every single family has lost someone. I know this is why there are so few children in the Commonwealth! Can you even imagine falling in battle, watching your child be torn apart and eaten right in front of you? I’ve met raiders and ferals and supermutants and deathclaws and I’ve killed them all, but never with a baby in my arms. Where could I have possibly put him? How can I shoot with my arms so full? How do they fight? How do they survive THIS?”

The Elder’s eyes were filled with sorrow and steely resolve. “This is why I fight”, he said quietly. “This is why the Brotherhood is here, to kill every abomination we can find, to do everything we can to insure the stability of the Commonwealth. If people here could have done it themselves, they already would have. They can’t do it alone. The Brotherhood is here to end this. To make the Commonwealth great again.”

The little boy had stopped crying, and was almost asleep in her arms again. The Elder inspected the shredded flesh on Christine’s leg, and then, ignoring his own wounds, injected her with their last stimpak. They left the shelter of the maintenance shed. Christine was hyper-vigilant, holding the baby tightly to her chest, ready to run at a moment’s notice. 

 

She was so tired. Stimpaks may help your body heal quickly, but there was no substitute for good old-fashioned sleep. The Elder led. He had scrounged up more ammo for the hunting rifle she had thrown him earlier from the dead raiders, but had used most of his supply on the molerat attack. She followed, with her empty pipe pistols, one on each hip, a combat knife in her boot, and the child in her arms. Her original plan had been for the baby to be able to ride the sling she had rigged up across her back, and hang on around her neck if she needed to shoot, but after the attack, she saw her plan just wouldn’t work. Now she was irritatingly dependent on the protection of the Elder. She spent the rest of the trip with the child’s limp little body in her arms. He was so thin, it was almost no effort to carry him, but by the time the settlement came into sight, her arms felt like lead. 

The settlers came swarming out to greet them, despite the early hour. Echoes of “General! General, are you ok? What happened? It’s so late. Are you ok?” made it hard to hear, but Maxson wasn’t sure she could answer anyway. “We got a surprise for you! Are you hungry? What happened to your head? What happened to your leg? What’s the baby’s name? What happened to him? Is he yours?” The settlers crowded around, each seeming to want to get as close to her as they could, despite her filthy, smelly state.

They really, truly cared about her, he realized. Every single one.

“General! We thought it was you. We been covering you from every roost in the place since you came into sight. The mutants have been awful agitated lately. We watched some vertibirds fly over and your big warbird too. I was about ready to blast those big green bastards with our artillery myself before we saw you headed for the thick of it!” said Jesus ‘Jim’ Jiménez-Gonzales. Stooped with age, the capable old man had been the leader of Egret Tours for the last 2 years. Christine had asked him to take the post herself, and never had cause to regret the decision. He was a good man. 

His wife, a tiny, plump, kindly woman, started to take the child from Christine but recoiled. “Ooooooo that’s a terrible smell! What did you get into? Come on honey, let’s get you to the baths. We just cleaned them out yesterday, but I get the feeling we’ll be cleaning them out in the morning.” Most of the group hustled off, sweeping Christine and the baby along with them to a large warehouse at the water’s edge. Hannah Jiménez-Gonzales shoo’ed the crowd away and pulled Christine and the baby inside. “Go wake up Doc Wallace!” she yelled, before disappearing into the warehouse and slamming the door shut behind her.

The Elder found himself in a small ring of men, the subject of heavy scrutiny. He understood what they were doing. They wanted to feel out where his place in the disturbance was, and what his intentions were. He had done it himself, almost all his life- silently studying and assessing people. He waited patiently.

A sturdy man almost his height, stalked directly at him until they were almost nose to nose. “Who the hell are you? What are you doing with her? You better not be a problem or I’ll whip your ass. Are you a guard? Well you got her here. Barely. So you can go!" Maxson calmly returned the man’s agitated glare.

“Jefferson! You got no cause to get in his face like that. Back off.” The man who seemed to be their spokesman took charge. Jefferson stomped off and leaned against the warehouse wall. He stayed close enough to see and hear what was going on in the circle. 

“Mister, I’m sorry for Jefferson’s behavior. It’s late, we’re all stirred up, and you did come out of nowhere with the General, and her in a bad state. Suppose we start at the beginning. I’m Jesus Jiménez-Gonzales, leader of Egret Tours, but you can call me Jim. Who are you and what’s your purpose here?”

Forthright and straight to the point. Maxson again reconsidered reports of the settler’s naiveté and pliability. Kind, willing to keep an open mind, and ready to instantly end any threat to their community is what I see here, he thought. 

“I’m Elder Arthur Maxson, leader of the Brotherhood of Steel. I fought beside your General against the supermutant uprising to the east, by Fallon’s Department Store and the hospital. We found the child there. His mother had been killed so we brought him with us to your settlement. We need to contact the Minutemen at Sanctuary and the Brotherhood of Steel at Boston Airport to let them know our location. Do you have a working radio?”

Jim was momentarily taken aback by the Elder’s commanding presence. He recovered quickly. “Radio yes, working no. A herd of radstag came through here a couple days ago and trampled the radio, the guard shack it was in, two stores, and our chem workstation. Coop here has been working round the clock to get that radio up and running again.”

“It’ll be fixed by dinner if the provisioner is on time. “ Coop promised. Maxson nodded.

“Well son, you got the General here alive, and to me that says a lot. That’s Wiley there, Arbol, Smitts, and O’Callahan. This is Coop. The General calls him ‘our resident mechanical genius. The over-protective man over there is Jefferson. Welcome to Egret Tours.”


	10. ...the one that burns and flies, and you run with it. C. Joybell C.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Christine find one of the rarest moments in life- the one where the world and everything they're hounded by melts away.   
> Caution- smut ahead.

Chapter 10  
She smelled clean, like soap, and …something…else. Not the curious scent he was starting to associate with her, and most definitely not the smell from the cupboard, but something like flowers and..” He couldn’t place it. It was driving him mad.

After being inspected by the doctor and shot with multiple stimpaks, he had taken his own scalding bath in the remarkable set-up the settlers of Egret Tours had devised. What he had originally thought was an old warehouse was in actuality large boathouse, converted by the settlers into an ingenious bathhouse. The center was dominated by a large cement ramp that slanted from the encompassing dock and platform structure, deep into the water of the marina. He supposed it had originally been a place to take ships in and out of the water. The settlers had found a way to lower a divider that separated the water filling the ramp from the waters of the marina. They had created a large pool that got deeper the further down the ramp a person walked. 

“To empty and refill it, we just open the gates and the lake does the rest.” Jim’s wife Hannah had explained. She had proudly bustled about, showing him the water purifier that kept the pool clean, and the additional purifier they had adapted to return water to the pool hot, heated be a clever system of fire pots. The Elder was impressed. 

“We knew you’d need a bath too, but I was pretty sure you wouldn’t want to use the same water the General and the baby used. Goodness knows I wouldn’t have wanted to. Phew! What a stench.” Briskly hustling him along, she had waved her plump arms in all directions, pointing out things as she went. She was still chattering. “…so I had the boys haul water from the pool into that tub right over there for you before they got in. It should still be plenty warm. Jefferson diverted some hot water into the tub for you. “I’ll bet he did, the Elder thought wryly.

Now that she pointed it out, he could see 2 large tubs that may have been fashioned from broken ship hulls, and a much smaller one that looked to be an old supermutant rendering pot. “…those lockers over there you’ll find lots of clothes. Something should fit. We’ll just get your clothes clean and back to you right off. Had to throw the General’s away. The baby’s too. Oh my! They were beyond saving to be sure!”

The Elder wondered when his chatty hostess would draw a breath.

“… so she sends us down clothes all the time. The provisioners bring them. We never know what the General will send next. A box of books, new guns- My! The things she does to them. She teaches us how to fix them ourselves, but we’re nowhere near as good as she is. Oh and we just got back a girl who went to the General’s home in Sanctuary to learn more about healing. Stimpaks only do so much you know.”

Hmmm, he thought. Artillery, established supply lines, an apprentice system of learning trades, settlers who know how to repair, modify, and carry their own weapons. A bathhouse, of all things. Is that a barter service or do people pay for the privilege? Or can anyone use it freely? 

“Here, I’ll leave you to get cleaned up. Towels are over there. Just leave everything here when you leave. I’ll clean it up later. I think my husband has a nice clean bed for you upstairs. In the building next door I mean- “

“I’ll stay with Christine and the baby.”

Hannah was momentarily taken aback. “In the Generals room? There’s no extra beds in there, though we did bring in a crib. The bed in the other building- “

He cut her off again. “I’ll stay with Christine and the baby.” 

She sized him up. He certainly seemed used to ordering people about. But this was her General. Hannah crossed her arms over her ample chest and glared at him. “No you will-- “.

“Hannah come away and let the man take his bath. If the General doesn’t want him in there, she’ll kick him out or shoot him.” Jim winked at the Elder from the doorway, where he had been patiently waiting for his wife to finish. “Son, you let me know when you’re done and I’ll show you where she sleeps.”

There was indeed a crib in the room, but it wasn’t in use. He gazed down at the sleeping woman, from where he stood at the foot of the bed. 

Most of her damp hair was pinned underneath her against her pillow. In the glow of the lamp on the nightstand, he could make out the soft curve of her cheek, and the strong lines of her jaw and neck. She was so lovely. Tranquil and relaxed, she was exquisite when she wasn’t making him want to throttle her. She was wearing some sort of short sleeved, frilly nightgown. In the muted lighting of the lamp, he could make out that it was an old t-shirt, many sizes too big, with lace sewn on, with love but not skill. Another gift from a loving settler.

She was on her side, her arms curved protectively around the child. Her beautiful, expressive lips were against the top of his head, her knees were drawn up to support his as he lay on his small side facing her. He was hugging a teddy bear between their two bodies.

They were beautiful. He swallowed thickly. They were… he couldn’t find the word. He felt a deep surge of love and protectiveness for them. He would take care of them and keep them safe until his last breath. They would want for nothing. Was this what a man felt, looking down at his own wife and child? Was this how it should have been with his own mother? He didn’t care. He just stood there, basking in the precious serenity of their sleep.

He quietly went to his side of the bed. His, he snorted at himself. But then he realized it was. Christine had left a large space between her back and the side of the bed. The lamp was on his nightstand, so he wouldn’t have had to reach over her and the child as he shut it off. A pair of sleep pants was folded on his pillow. She had known he would come. Warmth flooded his heart again. He removed the jeans and flannel shirt he had chosen from the lockers in the bathhouse as quietly as possible, pulled on the sleepwear, and gently slid under the blanket, trying not to jostle the sleeping pair. He loosely spooned up behind her.

His heart was touched to the core when she reached a sleepy arm behind herself and tugged his thigh closer. He surrendered willingly, nestling his chest against her warm back and draping his arm around her waist. The child whimpered in his sleep, and he reached further, gently stroking the child’s back until he fell back asleep.

“Have we done this before?” he had asked, so many months ago on the roof of Hub 360. “It feels like we have,” she had answered. They had been together face-to-face now for only a little more than two days, but it felt as if every day of their lives had been spent by each other side.

Still wondering, he fell asleep.

 

She lay there listening. She heard Arthur’s low, rumbling laughter, a pause, then the little boy’s delighted squeals, quickly muffled and hushed. Conspiratory chortling.

What on earth were they up to? Silence, his deep voice, pause, happy laughter, muffle and shush, giggle. She rolled in bed to be facing them, making sure to keep her eyes closed so they would think she was just moving around in her sleep.

“Shhh! Shhhhh! We don’t want to wake her up.” 

“Mama.”

“No buddy. That’s Christine,” the Elder whispered.

“Sh-Sheen,” the baby whispered loudly back, only slightly quieter than a shout.

Motionless silence. She tried to keep her breathing slow and even. I’m asleep. I’m asleep. I’m asleep. I’m asleep. 

“Shhhh. You ready, little man? Open up!” 

Silence, then the baby’s triumphant shout, “I DID IT! IDID IT ER-DER! DID IT! DID ERMPF! He sounded like he was trying to yell with his mouth full. Ecstatic baby laughter, quickly muffled.

“Shhhh! Good job buddy! Shhh!”

Christine couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing and opened her eyes. “What are you two cornballs doing over there?” 

The baby was sitting on the edge of the table, comfortably clothed in a soft coverall and little flannel shirt. Arthur too was fully clothed. She took a moment to admire how very nicely his shirt fit snugly over his muscular arms and torso. He was a handsome man, she smiled. And sexy as hell. She loved the calm intelligence in his blue eyes. And the curve of his lips. And his strong, gentle hands. He was sitting opposite the child and holding his little hands still, in one of the two chairs by the table. 

That would be the Deer-In-The-Headlights look, she chuckled.

“SH-SHEEEN! The little boy shouted, spitting a piece of mutfruit into his hand. He considered it for a second, then popped it back in his mouth, before stomping all over Arthur’s lap trying to get to the floor. She winced as Arthur snapped forward, trying to protect his groin from another well-placed stomp.

The little boy climbed awkwardly onto the bed and bounced over to land on Christine. He spit out the piece of mutfruit again, and offered it to her. “I DID IT!” he shouted. He started to shove the mangled fragment into her mouth.

“No no…BLECK …UGH…not right now honey! PTOOEY! I’m not ready to…ICK… eat yet! PTHAW!

He stuck the mutfruit pulp back into his mouth and clapped his sticky hands on either side of her face. Looking very seriously into her eyes, he said, “I did it.”

“What did you do?”

He was off again, bouncing on the bed as he yelled, “I CATCHED IT IN MY MOUF!”

She smiled, watching him cavort around. How fast he was rebounding! He had just spend a hellish few days in a dark cupboard listening to his mother be tortured, and eating his own poop. Now he was clowning around like any normal two- year old boy. Less than two maybe. Certainly not older. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Last night he had been asleep for most of his bath, only stirring lightly as she transferred him to Hannah’s motherly arms so Christine could wash herself. Under the crusted filth she had found a thin little boy, with curly brown hair and blue eyes. A little undernourished, but perfectly healthy, Dr. Wallace had said, after examining the boy and bandaging his wounds. He had pulled a little bit of fluid from a stimpak and injected the child. 

She had carried the now wide-awake and crying child to her room. Christine had tucked him into his crib and collapsed on her bed. Her big, beautiful, soft, favorite bed. Out of all of the places she called home here in the Commonwealth, the very best bed was here at Egret Tours. She sighed, closing her eyes.

But the little guy was having none of it. He grabbed the teddy bear, shinnied out of the crib and had sat beside her on the bed. He patted her stomach. 

“Where Mama?”

She sat up. Oh this was the part she had been dreading. How could she possibly tell him? What could she say? She sure as hell couldn’t tell him the truth. Christine slid off the bed and rattled through various drawers, trying to buy time to think. She found what she had been looking for and neatly folded the pair of sleep pants that were about 3 sizes larger than she needed onto the pillow on the far side of the bed. She would have liked the Elder to be in there with her, helping her explain. The General had sadly delivered the news of a loved ones death to too many people, but never to a small child. She had been hoping he had. The child was still watching her closely.

She slowly sat back on the bed, scooting closer to him, her legs curled under her. She had reached out and pulled him into her lap, holding his tiny little hands in her big ones. How could she even say it so it wouldn’t destroy his precious little spirit? He had been through so much. She brought his hands to her lips and kissed them. “Mama is gone, baby. She’s all gone.” 

His expression didn’t change. He didn’t understand.

She tried again. “The bad people hurt her and her body died. Her heart is still here though.” She had then pressed his hands to his heart. “Feel that? That’s Mama watching your heart beat. Mama is in your heart.” She pressed one of his hands to her own heart. “Feel that? That’s MY mama watching MY heart beat.” They had sat there quietly, with her holding his hands, one to his heart, one to hers. 

“Mama,” he said. He withdrew his hand from Christine’s heart and pressed both of his hands against his chest again. “Mama.” Then he had reached out to Christine and started crying. She hugged him close, gently rocking, and humming that tuneless song all mothers seem to instinctively know will calm their child. She had never been a mother, but it came to her as naturally as breathing. His wailing became sobs, then hiccups, and finally stopped. The little boy snuggled up to her chest and fell asleep, exhausted. She curled up around him, and at long last, Christine slept.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Someone knocked on the door. “General?” a young girl called. “Ma’am, Doc Wallace wants to see your little boy in his office if it’s ok. Is he awake? Can I take him down?”

“Keecy? Yeah ok, give me a sec.” She started to crawl out of bed.

“It’s ok, I got him.” The Elder swung the child off the bed and onto the floor. “Ok little man, you have a job to do.” He faced the boy toward the giggling teenager in the doorway. “Keecy here is going to take you to the infirmary, er Doctor. Take care of what the doctor needs, then come back and report to me." 

“Oh I can take him to lunch too, if that’s ok? General, what’s his name?”

Arthur and Christine stared at each other. 

“Jack!” yelled the little boy happily. He started jumping up and down in a circle. 

“Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack”, he sang. He stopped and pointed to Christine and Arthur. “Sh-Sheen! Er-Der!”

Keecy hid a smile. She pointed to herself. “Keecy.”

Jack stopped. “Keeee-ceeee. Jack! Jack! Er-Der! Sh-Sheen! Jack! Jack! Jack! Keeee-ceeee! Jack! Jack! Jack…” 

He marched out the door singing their names. Her eyes twinkling, Keecy shut the door.

 

“Come here, Er-Der!” Christine’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “Get in my bed!”

“General Sh-Sheen, are you giving me orders?”

“Yes I am. It has been months since I last tore your clothes off and it’s killing me. I order you to get over here!”

”Yes Ma’am!” He sat on the edge of the bed and started taking his boots off. Thump, the first boot fell.

“Do you always take this long to follow orders?” Christine knelt on the bed behind him and started nibbling on his earlobe. She lightly kissed her way along his neck to the collar of his shirt. “Why are you stopping?”

“You’re distracting me!”

“From untying your shoes? C’mon. Focus.”

He tried returning to his normally-very-easy task, but she reached an arm over his shoulder to caress his chest. She reached over the other arm and started undoing his buttons. He could feel her breasts rubbing softly against the back of his head. When had she taken her nightgown off? Her hot tongue was exploring his ear again. He could feel her breath as she chuckled wickedly in his ear. 

“You’ve stopped again. Where’s the famous iron-hard discipline of the Brotherhood of Steel?”

“You know exactly where my iron-hard is right now,” he growled. He summoned all of his concentration and grasped his bootlaces again. 

Her hands were under his shirt now. She gently scratched her fingernails through the furring on his chest and stopped to render some special attention on his nipple. She circled her finger around it and lightly brushed it with her thumb. 

“That could be my tongue, if you could get your boot off…”

Damn. He tried again. 

She sat behind him, gliding her hands back under his shirt to run her hands over his flat stomach. Foiled by his belt from caressing lower, she began unbuckling it. 

“Ha! Come here you.” He kicked his boot off and hauled her around so she was straddling his lap. He gripped the back of her neck and pulled her lips into a punishing kiss. He wrapped his other arm around her body and crushed her to him. She met his passionate progress with her own and ground her aching sex against the rock hard budge in his pants. Her sensitive nipples rubbed against his shirt. 

“Shirt…off,” she gasped against his lips. 

Together they yanked and shoved his shirt off. He pulled her back to him, her breasts rubbing deliciously against his chest as he plundered her mouth again. 

She stopped riding him only long enough to slide her hands between them and unbuckle his belt. He groaned, his cock straining almost painfully against his pants. She slid down his zipper and freed his aching shaft. She fondled and stroked his already throbbing length, before slipping out of his lap and onto her knees. He stood, watching her roughly tugging his pants low enough to take him into her mouth. Her tongue danced teasingly under his cock, then she began sucking. He groaned again and tried not to pass out. 

Her hands cupped his balls and gently squeezed before taking them into her mouth. Reaching through his legs, she ran her fingernails in a meandering path along the cleft of his ass. Then she stood tall on her knees, and with her hands on the outer curve of her breasts, captured his moist cock between their firm roundness. Her hands still guiding from their enviable perch, she massaged the full length of his cock with her breasts, before letting go of them and sliding away to take him again into her hot mouth. 

Her every move jolted his already over-stimulated shaft. He struggled to keep his body in check. She wouldn’t win this easily, he smiled evilly. He had plans of his own.

He bent, disengaging her suction on his cock with a loud pop. He jolted again.

Grabbing her arms, he threw her on the bed. She was so lovely, he thought, rosy and disheveled, her smoldering eyes dark with lust. He kicked off his pants and knelt between her thighs. He thrust his tongue into her folds, already wet with her need for him. She hissed and arched as he moved to nip her nub, rolling it with his tongue against his teeth. He slid a busy finger into her heat, then another. She bit back a scream and arched again, the walls of her sex tightening gratifyingly on him. He held perfectly still as the waves of her orgasm rolled through her. He slid his body up the full length of hers, stroking her nipples against his furred chest. She gasped.

“One,” he whispered, kissing her below her ear, then on her soft mouth. He felt her smile against his lips.

Still lying on her, he slowly began to move, thrusting his cock between her legs, but not entering her. He rubbed tantalizingly against her swollen pussy and teasing her clit. Oh this was the game, was it? She mounted her own offensive.

Her long, shapely legs wrapped around his thrusting hips. She began rubbing her hot, wet slit deeply along his shaft. He gritted his teeth and tried to slow. He could feel her ragged breathing as she drew designs with her clever tongue up his neck and into his ear. She pulsed her tongue in rhythm with his thrusting. He froze and tried to pull away, but she refused to unlock her legs. She curled up to reach his cock with her fingers and slipped the tip of it into her wet, aching pussy. She drove herself onto the hardness of his thick rod. He fell across her, spasming uncontrollably as his own orgasm overcame him. He rocked and drove himself deeply inside her, shooting his hot seed. She clamped her hand over his mouth to muffle his shout. As his body settled, she caressed his back.

“One,” she chuckled wickedly into his ear.

He began to move in her. He pulled out slowly and lingeringly, then drove his cock back in. 

“OOOOOOOOO!” she breathed. He did it again. And again. 

Too late she realized her mistake. He wasn’t getting soft. He was still rock-hard, and she was pinned. She felt her orgasm building and unlocked her legs to disengage herself, but he was having none of it. He gripped her thighs continued his rhythm- puuuuuuuuuuuuuuull and slam! Puuuuuuuuuuuuull and slam! As he went faster, she started to climax.

He anchored himself across her body and began pumping in earnest. She tried to stifle her shriek against his shoulder as his body rubbed along hers. Her skin was ablaze, every sensitive point on her body afire. She clung to him, bucking and throbbing as the frenzied orgasm racked her body, her nails biting into his back. 

His own climax took him by surprise. His ragged shout rang satisfyingly in her ear, as her cries and the clamping of her hot cunt flung him over the edge. They heaved and bucked, giving every last inch of pleasure to each other. At last they lay motionless. 

He rolled off and pulled her into his arms. “Two.”

“Two,” she agreed.

He kissed her deeply and began stroking her body. She stretched like a cat in his arms. He wrapped his arms tightly around her hips and roughly pushed his knee between her legs. 

She stared challengingly into his eyes and he felt her start riding his leg. Her hot pussy slicked his thigh. She rubbed her breasts against his chest, never breaking her gaze. A slow smile curved her lips, then she leaned across to suckle on his earlobe. She began to whisper.

“Is this what you like, baby? Do you like feeling my hot cunt riding your thigh like it was your big thick cock? 

He hardened instantly. What the hell? Damn this woman! He tried to resist, to relax.

She chuckled wickedly and pulsed her tongue in his ear, matching her grinding against him. She let out a small sensual moan with every jerk against him. Her breath was hot against his ear. “Because that’s what I really want. I want you to drive that beast of yours so deep inside me that I scream. I want to buck my hips on your cock so bad. I want to feel your balls against my wet pussy while you drive your cock into me again and again and again and again. I want you so bad baby. I want you now. Now baby. I want to ride your hot hard cock. I want you to fuck me. Hard. I want your big hot cock in me. Now!”

His leg was riding her wet slit now as he thrust against her. When did that switch? He didn’t care. All he knew was that if he didn’t pound his throbbing cock into her right now he’d explode. 

They both cried out as he thrust his pulsing shaft deep into her cunt. They pushed and grappled with each other, crushing and grinding. Feverishly he rammed into her. His sweat dripped on her, mingling with hers and slicking their bodies as she met his every thrust with her own. His body trembled as the beginnings of his orgasm began to overtake him.

“Yes baby! I want it all! Give it all to me! Give me your big hot cock!” She began making inarticulate cries of ecstasy, as the erratic pumping of his cock drove her into her own zenith. He roared into her ear, and continued to pump until the last sparking waves of his climax died away. 

They both stayed perfectly still, him on his hands and knees, and she beneath him with her legs still locked around his hips. Finally he spoke.

“Well that was effective.”

They both burst into laughter.

“But it was only three. I’m pretty sure you couldn’t coax another out of me, no matter what you did. You’d be killing the leader of the Brotherhood of Steel by his heart giving out, but I’d die a very happy man. Unlock your legs.”

“No. You’re getting soft, but you still feel very nice in there. “

“Hmmm. Well how am I supposed to do anything like this?”

“You’re a smart man. Use your imagination.”

He grabbed her hips and pulled her with him so they would remain linked as he leaned back to rest his butt against his calves. Well his hands were free now. She continued to watch him expectantly. 

Damn the woman. He snorted. If he had a cap for every time he felt that about her, he’d be rich.

He rotated his hips experimentally but was distracted by the sensual movement of her hips riding with him. She was so beautiful, so perfect. He stroked along her curves. He cupped and kneaded her strong full breasts, stopping to chafe her nipples. He rolled them with his thumbs, enjoying her startle. She groaned with pleasure as he continued to tweak and draw on them.

“You know, it’s almost not fair because I’m already so over-stimulated from you.”

“Shush. I’m using my imagination.” He brushed her lips with his thumb, dragging the bottom lip a tiny bit. They were red and bruised from his kisses. He loved that. From my kisses. 

She reached up to his hand and slid his finger into her mouth. She started to suck. His cock jumped.

“Whoa!” He snatched his hand from her mouth. “No. Bad girl. This is about you, not me.”

“But it is. Exciting you serves me very well. I’m really being very very selfish.” She curled to reach under her leg to his balls. He jolted as she rolled them in her hand, kneading and tugging. Son of a bitch. He was getting hard again. He felt a little light-headed. That she could do this to him so easily both excited and irritated him. But that was her- the woman who excited and irritated him. 

“Hey! Stop that, woman.” She had begun to run her other hand up his chest. She possessively combed through the hair on his chest before lightly pinching in a more sensitive spot. Her hand wandered across his chest to the other. She flicked his nipple. Her legs unlocked, and she braced her feet against his calves, grinding her pussy on his cock. She was still playing with his balls, but with more urgency now. 

She stretched again then relaxed, her hands high over her head. “I want it, honey. I want number four.” 

She sensuously started to run her hands down her body. At her face she stopped to suck on her own fingers. His cock got harder. Kissing the tip of one finger, she drew a wet line down to her breasts and started playing with them. She dipped lower, stopping briefly to pulse her finger in her navel, and slid her fingers between the two of them to play with her own nubbin. 

She was doing it to him again. Three orgasms and she had him hard again. “Enough,” he growled. “That’s my job.” He pushed her hands away. His warm fingers caressed her nub.

She jerked again. “Ooooooo that’s nice.”

He slowly pulled about two inches of his cock out of her and slid it back in. Smiling at her sharp intake of breath, he did it again. 

Without any warning, he pulled completely out of her, and tossed her over onto her hands and knees. He plunged into her pussy from behind. Pistoning his cock into her, he reached under to torment her clit with serious purpose. His free arm was wrapped around her waist, holding her steady for his onslaught.

Her sharp, jerky exclamations of pleasure began to run together as she started to convulse. She came hard, rocked to her core by the intensity of her climax. Over and over the waves of ecstasy shocked through her. When she finally lay there shaking, he rolled onto his side, spooning her up against his stomach, still connected. 

He kissed her behind her ear. “Four.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the encouragement and constructive criticism! It's an overwhelming feeling to know someone cares about the world I've created. You rock!


	11. Learning is the Discovery That Something's Possible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Christine almost have a life together. 
> 
> Big fat chapter. You were warned.

“Ed! I’m so glad to see you! How is your wife coming along?” Christine pushed through the rowdy crowd to get to the provisioner.

Most of the little settlement turned out when the provisioner came through. One never knew when he would have a letter from a loved one, some new treat, or a special delivery from the General. Ed always had something good. Christine was thrilled to see he even carried a small stock of wares created by other settlements, to sell along his route. He had grown from a single Brahmin, only partially loaded, to three heavily packed beasts. Six guards now accompanied him as well. Captain Michael Pease, one of Preston’s staff, was working on arranging Minutemen patrols to intersect provisioner routes more frequently. As the number of functions that the provisioners performed increased, so did their need for protection. The settler’s enthusiasm never failed to remind Christine of a musical number from The Music Man.

“Oh the Wells Fargo wagon is a comin down the street, oh please let it be for me…” she sang under her breath.

Ed’s eyes lit up. “Well hello General! Never know where you’ll turn up next. It’s good to see you! I got a special message to you from Colonel Garvey. Cait and your other guy made it back to Sanctuary safe, but I understand your warbird took a hell of a beating. They been working on repairing it all night, so’s to come find you. The radios were flooded with the message and asking for you since last night. Cait sent a bunch of her own transmissions. Mostly threatening you if you don’t answer her.”

Christine chuckled. 

He pulled off his dusty combat helmet and ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Susie’s good! Her belly is really big now, though the Doc says she has at least a month to go. She misses you. You should stop by. But don’t laugh at how she walks. She’s kind of touchy about that. One minute she yells because I’m not helping her get up, the next she yells that she’s not an invalid and can do it herself. I love her like nothing else, but I sure will be glad when this baby comes.” 

Susan Merritt was 12 years younger than her husband, and they loved each other deeply. Her pregnancy had been a happy surprise. Ed had immediately taken Captain Pease’s suggestion to heart, and began switching off his provisionary duties with his friend and neighbor Samuel Mackie. They traded off duties every two weeks, one at home while the other was on the road. Samuel had only the one son, the rest of his family had been killed on their perilous flight to the safety of Oberland Station. Young Markus Mackie was learning the ropes of being a provisioner from his dad. 

“I will. I’m so happy for you two! Samuel taking over the Oberland-Egret Tours route full-time when the baby is born?”

“Yes ma’am he will. With Markus. I expect it’ll be a month or so after the baby is born before my wife is comfortable enough on her own so’s I can go back to provisionering, but she said if I fuss over her then as much as I do now, she’ll kick me out sooner. Course, if she keeps driving me crazy with her mood switches, I may head out on my own.” The crowd laughed. “How about you General, find the right man to give us little Generals with yet?”

She laughed. “No Ed. Not me. I’m never settling down. I’m having too much fun being the scourge of the Commonwealth. You know how it is. Supermutant tea parties, ferals to play tag with, gunners and raiders to invite to dances. Can you think of a single man who could handle me anyway?”

“What about that bossy young man you were making so much noise with this morning?” Hannah smiled smugly. “I may not like him, but you sure seem too!”

The crowd erupted in hilarity. Raucous catcalls of, “Yep, you seem to be getting along pretty well!” “He seemed to be handling you just fine!” and “Good thing I was done sleeping anyway!” made Christine blush deeply. 

She glanced back at Arthur, who was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, smiling widely. He opened his mouth to speak.

Christine cut him off immediately. “Don’t. I WILL shoot you.” The crowd roared with laughter. The Elder held up his hands in mock surrender.

Shouting to be heard over the hooting crowd, Christine yelled, “What did you bring us today, Ed?”

The group’s attention was neatly diverted back to the provisioner. Christine breathed a sigh of relief. She fixed Maxson with a quelling look. He held her gaze, a challenge smoldering in his eyes. 

She felt the heat of it coiling in places that had every right to be crippled from their exertions of the morning. His eyes glittered with delectable promise. 

I see your promise and raise you one world- rocking guarantee, she silently taunted him. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before turning up the heat.

She felt it blistering her soul. Unbidden, memories of their glistening bodies struggling and writhing with passion filled her mind. His strong hands gripping her thighs. The teasing touch of his beard. The weight of his muscular body over her as he responded to her involuntary shuddering and bucking. The blinding, soaring releases they evoked in each other. Her heartbeat quickened to an aroused thrumming. She could see in the tightening of his pants his reaction to the passion his challenge had evoked. Eyes locked in mutual purpose, she took a step toward him.

Enough. His fiery craving for her eclipsed their surroundings. That she released this lust in him went beyond intensity and into mania. He was the most powerful man in the Commonwealth. He was heavily schooled in control and tactics, he commanded hundreds of soldiers. But he looked into her eyes, and it all burned away in a second. He was a man. And she made him remember it. He strode toward her.

“General! General where’re you going? What do we do with these little guys?” Jim was holding up one of 4 slatted crates with EGRET TOURS printed in large lettering. They contained some furry little creatures, the likes of which Jim had never seen before. A handful of settlers eyed them with curiosity. The General had never sent anything live before. 

Christine slammed back to reality. They were at Egret Tours, surrounded by settlers. Damn. Time to be the General again. Deep regret filled the look she cast to Arthur. 

“Oh! Where’s Chess? He’s back, isn’t he?” The General had escorted Chess Mulvanehey to Kay at Bunker Hill, the only veterinarian she knew, to learn more of animal husbandry. Chess had been fascinated with the creatures since he was a small boy. He had arrived at Egret Tours two years ago and taken the stock solidly into hand. Now all Minuteman animal issues went immediately to him.

One of the General’s “big plans”, as Preston patiently called it, was to give each settlement a field of some sort to specialize in. She believed people would begin to choose specialties for themselves over time, and wanted to give each settlement somewhere to start. She had said, “We want people here to get past just surviving, and start being comfortable with their environment. The next logical step is then to begin to manipulate their environment to better accommodate their needs and wants.“ As Preston saw Minuteman communities grow, and homemade articles and services being traded, he knew she had been right again.

“Chess!” she yelled. “Chester Hamish Mulvanehey, I have a surprise for you! Chess are you sleeping? Wake up!”

The Elder was impressed. Christine seemed to know every person in her settlement by name, and even middle name. She had appointed a humble and intelligent man to preside over the settlement. Coop she called the “resident mechanical genius”. Chess was her animal expert. Did she have this closeness with the people in every settlement? Her level of devotion and commitment to her settlers was astounding.

A red-headed young man of about 20 rushed out of one of the rooms, still pulling his shirt over his head. He stopped and quietly closed the door behind him, as if not to wake someone who was still sleeping.

“On the way Ma’am!” he shouted, hurtling down the steps at breakneck speed. He pulled up short right in front of her and saluted. “Chester Mulvanehey reporting for duty ma’am.” 

Interesting, Maxson thought.

The General solemnly returned the salute. “At ease. Who taught you that?”

“Lieutenant Case was at Bunker Hill a few weeks ago and said it was right and proper.”

Arthur watched the sadness cloud her eyes. He himself had been there when Lieutenant Case had been shot down on the General’s mission to save any survivors from a Brotherhood vertibird crash. The Elder had been the only one to make it out. Christine had traded her lieutenant’s life for his own. He remembered his promise to the dead soldier, realizing Case would have considered it fulfilled with Maxson’s rescue of the General from the raiders. But the man was still dead. He would not be coming home.

“It is right and proper.” Christine said sadly. “A little formal, but you can use it if you want. Lieutenant Case died two days ago on a rescue mission. He was a good man.”

The little community sobered. 

Christine cleared her throat. “Minuteman Lieutenant Steven Case gave his life, true to his promise to the Commonwealth to protect the people and the peace. He would have gone on to kill many more enemies, save the lives of many more people, and make the Commonwealth a better place. If he were still here.”

“He is still here,” Chess said, his heart filled with sorrow. He continued the ceremony, “Minutemen never die.”

“He is here.” Christine agreed.

 

She let the settlers have their sadness. Taking Chess by the arm, she brought him to meet his new charges. “These are called rabbits, Chess. I caught them up north and had them sent to you specifically. Little devils are fast. And they hop, Chess. That’s how they get around. To warn you though, they let out a shocking scream when they’re scared. They’re still as irradiated as every other creature out here, but have a good pelt and delicious meat to eat and trade. New resources for the Commonwealth. They eat vegetables mostly. Think you can help them adapt to their new home here? “

Chess was already reaching for the crates. “Drinks water? Needs room to wander? Will run away? They jump up as well as far? Needs housing safe from radstag herds? How do I tell male from female?”

Christine was delighted. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, and I don’t know, you’ll have to tell me. As I only shipped one crate of 4 rabbits and you now have 4 crates of 4 rabbits each, I’m thinking we seem to have managed at least one of each. Let me know how you’re making out every now and then, ok?”

“Through Colonel Garvey in Sanctuary,” he said absently as he examined one of his new responsibilities. “I know.”

Christine watched him carefully lift one from a crate and examine it. “I need a new notebook to keep track of my findings in,” he mumbled. 

“Ahead of you Chess. There’s a packet of three for you in this load somewhere.”

He looked up in surprise. “How do you do that? You didn’t even know these little guys would survive the trip, yet sent three notebooks to record my findings in? Ma’am, you rock!”

She stifled a chuckle at his use of one of her pet phrases. She was constantly confusing everyone with her idioms, but some of the younger ones had adopted them with admirable aplomb. She reflected on Arthur’s irritation when she used, ‘Skippy’ and ‘Cupcake’. Nope, he was not adapting to her lingo. This time she did chuckle aloud.

As if summoned by her thoughts, she felt his presence move in closely behind her.

“You’re introducing a new species of abomination to the Commonwealth recklessly,“ Maxson spoke quietly by her ear. “Why did you not send them to the Brotherhood for evaluation? We have scribes who specialize in biology. Animal, plant and otherwise.”

She turned in irritation. “You’re not the only competent asset in the Commonwealth, Elder. Chess is intelligent, resourceful, and responsible. He’ll inspect the rabbits and their capabilities exhaustively, and he keeps meticulous notes. I trust his abilities to assess the rabbits thoroughly and safely. Your team doesn’t impress me as much as he does.”

“My team? When-“

“Hey General! What’s this?” Another one of her settlers was holding up a flat, round…thing. Maxson scowled at the interruption.

Christine went tearing over. “WOOHOO! This is one of my very favorite toys in the whole world!” she yelled. She grabbed the round thing and waved the youth back a good thirty feet. “This, my dear Danny, is a Frisbee. You throw it like this.” She slung her arm out, spinning the disk directly at him. “Catch!”

Danny was a stocky young man, and game to give it a try. He reached clumsily for it, but it went past him, its path curving to land it directly in the garden. Old Grandma McCann squawked as it narrowly missed her. From where she was busily planting carrots, she waved her fist and muttered voodoo curses at the playful group. At least that’s what Christine told the nosier crowd. She actually had no idea, but did love pulling people’s legs.

Danny jogged over to retrieve it. “Now what do I do? Throw it back to you?”

“Yes please!” 

Memories of throwing the Frisbee for hours with her friends at MIT filled her mind, threatening to dampen her happiness. They had played Frisbee golf, Frisbee basketball, and Frisbee volleyball, really anything that involved tossing the disk with accuracy. Often their antics involved running and tackling. Her smile faded, realizing those green lawns and happy friends were long gone. Long, long gone.

But maybe she could teach a new generation the joys of the game.

Danny tried to imitate Christine’s movements, but the disk went flipping toward Keecy. Keecy dropped Jack’s hand and chased after it. Jack ran after Keecy, then caught sight of Christine and ran to her instead.

“Sh-Sheen!” he shouted, happily crashing into her leg. Off- balanced, she stumbled and fell. Jack climbed onto her chest and began giving her hard, sloppy baby kisses. Cuddling him in her arms, she rolled on her side and began blowing buzzes onto his little tummy. He thrashed and giggled uncontrollably.

Maxson watched the Queen of Undisciplined Chaos thoughtfully. She was like a force of nature; a wind you couldn’t tell the direction it was blowing from. Wild and deadly and intelligent and beautiful and frustrating and loving…” Jack suddenly crashed into his legs.

“ER-DER!” he yelled with delight. 

Arthur picked him up and kissed his forehead. “Now what, son?”

Christine had been running behind Jack and stopped dead. Son? That better just be an endearment. Jack began happily banging kisses on Arthur’s face

A noisy crowd of teenagers engulfed her. Christine found herself awash in a sea of puppy dog eyes and begging faces.

“Can we have Friday night tonight?” “You’re not here that often on the real Friday Night.” “Pleasepleaseplease?” “Friday Night! Friday Night! Friday night!” More people took up the chant.

Christine raised her hands in acquiescence. “Jim, if it’s okay with you, you let me know when everything is done, and done right, and we can have a Friday Night.” The crowd cheered.

She found her hands were suddenly completely full of kids. Happy for their victory, they pummeled her with kisses and hugs. Pushed off balance by the exuberant show of affection, she tumbled to the ground again, this time buried under the joyful, lively crowd. She shrieked and struggled to extract herself, but was thoroughly tangled and squashed under the sheer weight of the high-spirited group.

Arthur knew when he was beaten. He gave up on the possibility of getting back to their discussion of the new abomination. They’d talk about it later, he vowed. Damn cupcake they would. No, wait. Damn skippy they would. That was it.

Suddenly he felt himself floundering in her world. Her relationship with her insubordinate settlers, her wildly inappropriate leadership choices, her effervescent personality, the way she charged into everything with her entire being…it was all so different from anything he had been taught. But it worked for her, and the people of the Commonwealth were thriving under her leadership. He didn’t know where to even begin to understand it. And that she had absorbed him into her universe without hesitation was like a lifeline, something solid and loving to hold onto until he could get his footing. 

Loving. The word had come unbidden to his mind. Love was a strong word. Love was for people who had been together for more than three days, counting their time on the roof of Hub 360. But even then, as he had stood up there looking out over the Commonwealth with her arms around him, he had known she was for him. His match, the part that completed him. 

But how would she react when the Brotherhood took command of the Commonwealth? Would she stand at his side, an advisor for the Minutemen as they became Brotherhood of Steel soldiers? Would she stand beside him in other ways too?

No, she would be angry. A dangerous adversary. He didn’t even want to think about that right now. He just wanted to enjoy the time he had with her, before he returned to his lonely life as leader of the Brotherhood of Steel. He pushed aside the hollow feeling that plunged into his heart at the thought. 

His attention returned to the squalling, laughing pile of humanity before him. He smiled. For now, this was enough.

Jim clapped a familiar hand onto his shoulder. “You gonna save her or will I have to let Jefferson do it?” 

Eyes twinkling, Arthur grabbed Christine’s boot from the pile and gave it an experimental tug. Great squawking and hollering ensured, so he gripped higher onto her calf and gave an almighty heave. The entire pile shifted, then Christine emerged from underneath, red-faced and laughing, her hair a wild mess and her eyes sparkling. 

“Air! Blessed air!” She swatted behind her blindly at the roiling pile of kids. 

 

“Oh my love let me be your fire, we’re a thousand miles up and about to get higher, Feel my heart beatin round my chest, you’re the only prayer I need to make me feel blessed, singin whoa whooooooa, whoa whooooooa..”

Arthur marveled at her skill. She set a clapping beat, played her guitar, skipping briefly sometimes to halt one thing or point to someone to whom she would be teaching the chorus as the song progressed, then picked up without missing a beat, all while singing. Doing so many things at once flawlessly. Music was a love and a strength to her. He filed it away in his mind with all of his other astonishing discoveries of her.

The settlers had produced a surprise for their General- a rickety old guitar, held together by love and vast amounts of duct tape, along with a box of rusted and tangled wires and strings that had been found with it in a demolished music store. Christine had spent the entire rest of the day fixing up the instrument, patiently cleaning and installing strings and whittling pegs, then strumming and making more adjustments. Keecy stole Jack again, and Jim showed the Elder around the settlement proudly. By the time the fire had been lit and food and drinks piled on every available outdoor surface, Christine had been able to pretty consistently coax tunes from it. The energy of the settlers as they sang and clapped and laughed, paid her back a hundred-fold for the effort she had put in.

“Safe and sound is all you’ll ever know-“

The sound of rotors invaded their music. Coop had repaired the radio and sent messages to Sanctuary and Boston airport tower exactly as he said he would, and had received their relieved replies. A Brotherhood vertibird touched down just beyond the fire, blowing sparks and burning bits everywhere. The settlers rushed to put out the small blazes and bank the big fire.

Four soldiers in T-60 power armor disembarked and ranged near the Elder, their guns held loosely. An officer jumped down and came running directly to Maxson. The newcomer almost hugged him, but settled at the last moment to shake his hand decorously. He had the look of a man bursting with reprimands, but held his tongue when the Elder narrowed his eyes at him.

Christine walked over and offered her hand. “Lancer Captain Kells, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m Christine Christopher, General of the Commonwealth Minutemen.” Cheers erupted from the crowd behind her. “Welcome to Egret Tours Settlement.” The infectious jubilation increased exponentially.

Maxson stared at her as she shook hands with his second-in-command. She knew him by name? Where did her intelligence come from? Was there a spy on his ship?”

She was watching him with that challenging look in her eyes. Damn the woman.

Another cap….

“Can you stay for a bit? We’re having what we call a “Friday Night”. It’s a chance for everyone to blow off steam and have some fun.” The crowd cheered.” We have drinks and some of the best food in the Commonwealth. We’d love for you to join us.” Kells looked to the Elder.

Maxson turned to the crowd. “No, we can’t stay. I’ve been away for too long as it is. I thank you for your hospitality. You are kind and generous and I have enjoyed my very enlightening time with you. We have to return to the Brotherhood airship, the Prydwyn. Any of you who wish to join our peace-keeping forces or would like to learn more about the Brotherhood of Steel are welcome to join us. The Commonwealth is always in need of loyal soldiers.” He turned to Keecy, who was holding Jack. “Let’s go son.”

He felt Christine’s hand on his arm. “No Arthur, you know you can’t. The boy is not going with you.”

He had been prepared for this. “Christine, you know he won’t be safe here. Molerats. Ferals. Supermutants. Deathclaws. Radscorpions. None of these things can harm him if he’s with me. “

Her eyes went stony. “No. He is not going with you. Keecy, please bring him to Jim and Hannah’s house.”

“Keecy stay where you are.” The Elder turned back to Christine. “I will bring him up in the Brotherhood. He’ll start as a squire like every youngster. He’ll grow into a strong young man, dedicated to our mission to govern and protect the Commonwealth. You should be coming too. The Commonwealth will benefit from having Brotherhood leadership for your Minutemen organization. ”

Christine was shocked to her very soul. Where did the warm and loving man from this morning go? The man who pulled her from the human dogpile? The one who tossed bits of mutfruit for Jack catch in his mouth? His calm, loving, confident presence had grounded her, protected her. Where did it go?

Loving? Where the hell did that come from? Her eyes skimmed his strong, competent, loving hands.

There was that word again. Her eyes traveled to the sweet, loving smile she had been enraptured by, except it wasn’t there. Had it really been? Had she just wished it to be true because she had wanted it to be so badly?

No, loving is not the word. She felt her heart fighting her. 

She looked into his eyes. That was where the word ended.

She didn’t know the man who looked back at her through those soulless pools. He was cold, expressionless. Granite would have been more readable. He had snapped on his game face, she realized. She searched his face desperately for a tiny crack she could see Arthur through, but the façade of the Elder was too thick, too complete. Maybe it had been the Arthur she had loved that was the real façade. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter at all. Her Arthur was gone. The man who had begun to help her feel like her soul was not alone in this strange world. He had had her back, saved her from herself. They had been happy! 

She was dealing with Elder Maxson now, leader of the Brotherhood of Steel. He had his own agenda.

“No.” Her voice was like ice. “The baby is not yours to take. He needs to grow up with his destiny in his own hands and make his own choices. It’s not your place to take away his free will and groom him to obey yours. I will not see him polishing your boots and running your errands and marching around spouting the pathetic Maxson-twaddle every one of your soldiers proudly drools out…”

“Maxson-twaddle?” The Elder looked incredulous.

“‘I’d follow Elder Maxson to the Gates of Hell ‘, ‘Elder Maxson made the Brotherhood what it is today.’ She mimicked. “Your soldiers have no minds of their own. They’re your own personal army of synths- flesh on the outside, and a set bundle of protocols telling them what to do and say inside their heads. You control them as much as the Institute controls its synths. One word from you and they’ll go to war. This is Truth.” She set her jaw stubbornly. “You’re not turning Jack into that. He’s is not going with you.” 

She nodded to Keecy, who ducked into the nearest house with Jack. At a look from Maxson, Kells moved to stand outside the door. 

The entire community held their breath, watching the two warring leaders. They could feel the enmity rolling off the General and the Elder like distant thunder. The struggle, they knew, was not about the fate of a single boy. It was whether the survivors of the Great War would continue their proud fight to keep rebuilding their lives with their own two hands, or give it all up to be protected and ruled by the Brotherhood of Steel. 

It was about the future of the Commonwealth. 

More rotors could be heard in the distance.

The General bit out her words. “And the Commonwealth doesn’t need your leadership. It needs your services. I KNOW that when you crashed, you were on your way to Sanctuary to procure a steady supply of resources for your people, at the expense of my very hard-working settlers. Begin your own settlements with your own people, Elder, and join our world of give and take. We’d be happy to show you how.”

Christine continued, “I’ve been in your airport and aboard your airship. I see exactly how everything is run, and I know all about your mission. Killing supermutants and ferals, and other destructive irradiated creatures is fine. Raiders, gunners, anyone who causes harm to the people who are trying to make this Commonwealth a better place? These are all excellent targets. But the rest? Think about the divergence of our missions here, Elder. Everyone you see has friends who are intelligent ghouls. Some ghouls have lived 200 or more years in peace, and you’d kill them because of what they might do someday? Most will likely be still living in peace long after you die, Elder Maxson.”

“They will turn feral. And we will destroy them before they have a chance to degenerate further and kill anyone…”

She cut him off. “Can you tell a Gen 3 synth from a human? You can’t. The only way to tell is a chip inside their brain. Will you kill any person you suspect is a synth, so you can tear apart their brain to know for sure? What happens to the families of all the people you kill in your wild goose chase? What do you say to them? ‘Your daughter is dead, but you can take comfort in knowing she wasn’t a synth’?”

He slashed his hand in a negating gesture. “Synths are known to suddenly attack, killing dozens.” He spit back. “Do you know what happened in Diamond City? A synth masquerading as a human went berserk and killed more than a dozen people…”

“So do people. You’ve seen people who can’t handle their lives and lose their minds. What makes a person snap, Elder? The Commonwealth? We’re all here, you included. Any person can lose it, at any time. Will you kill everyone on the premise they’ll go berserk someday?”

“People have control. Synth control rests in the hands of the heedless scientists who created them.”

“Soldiers don’t. Their control is in the hands of their leader. Brainwashing and rules make them incapable of choosing for themselves. You hold them hostage to their own honor…”

“General, a few weeks ago, a renegade synth who was leading a particularly bloodthirsty pack of raiders near the Warwick peninsula was killed. This synth led a gang that caused the deaths and suffering of dozens. “

“So do humans! Will you kill a human for the same reasons? That they could possibly be someone who will go berserk and kill a bunch of people, or maybe lead a gang of raiders to do the same? How can you tell, Elder? Can you look into a person’s eyes and know if they’re redeemable? Where will you draw the line? I was there on the FMS Northstar. Right now you are looking into the face of the warrior who killed that rogue synth. And his crew. And it didn’t matter to me if he was a synth or person or a frog. He was causing harm to the people of the Commonwealth and had to be stopped. That’s the line I draw, Elder. “

He had never seen her like this before. She was a feral creature, beyond even the stone cold depths of the woman he knew as The General. She would not budge an inch on her mission to protect the people of the Commonwealth, or Jack. 

He tried again. “Christine-“

“General. I am The General of the Commonwealth Minutemen, and you will never call me ‘Christine’ again.”

The Minuteman warbird had been starting to land, but rose again, rotating to show the manned minigun and an intense young man carrying a sniper rifle. 

“Hi General!” Rob called out. “Need a sniper?”

The armored Brotherhood soldiers snapped their gun sights to the warbird. 

Instead of running to safety from the imminent fight, the people of Egret Tours slipped their own guns into their hands, and started ranging out, some lifting up their guns to train sights on his soldiers. Some moved closer to Christine. 

Maxson was stunned. The settlers were willing to take on armored soldiers to protect their General. They would fight for her, just as she fought for them. No, Minutemen were nothing like what his Brotherhood intelligence teams had led him to believe. 

Christine threw her open hand up to face the warbird. “NO!” she shouted. “Stand down!” 

She looked at all the dear faces of the settlers of Egret Tours and tears came to her eyes. They must not give the Brotherhood any reason to open fire on them. “Stand down”, she said to the crowd. She knew that the mass killing of a Minuteman settlement would end the Brotherhood threat in the Commonwealth forever, but she would never ever sacrifice lives for that. There was always another way. “Put your guns away. Please.”

She turned to Maxson. She saw in his eyes now, the same deep, profound pain that was in her own heart. Their time together was over. They were never meant to be together for longer than these few days. Love had no place in their future. 

Christine and Arthur silently said goodbye to each other. The General and the Elder, at long last, took their places.

“Leave, Elder,” the General quietly said. “The Minutemen are not willing to pay the price your courtesies cost. We have worked harder than you’ll ever understand to make true and solid lives here in the Commonwealth with our own hands. And Jack is not your child. He will not have his future chosen for him. The only way you’ll ever take him, or abuse the people of the Commonwealth, is over my dead body.”


	12. Every New Beginning Comes From Some Other Beginning's End- Seneca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The General and the Elder fight for the future of the Commonwealth.

Lancer Captain Kells was stunned. This was the General? The woman Elder Maxson had been so certain would timidly comply with his demands? The woman who was now standing toe-to-toe with the coldest, most deadly man he had ever known and had unflinchingly denied his commands, AND given him an ultimatum? 

Owen Kells had been in many battles. A former Enclave assassin in the Capitol Wasteland, the Elder had then been his target. Impressed by the intelligent, driven, and charismatic man, Kells had joined the Brotherhood and stood proudly at Maxson’s side since. Faced with imminent violence, the Elder turned cold and focused, but Kells? Kells felt the adrenaline sing in his blood. His heart raced in anticipation, his body coiled to react instantaneously to any attack.

But there was no war here, not one that he could release his violent energies into. He could feel the thunder and lightning rolling and crashing between the General and the Elder. They stood there not speaking, two infernos, one frozen, one raging flame. The fury buffeted him. For the first time in his military career, he honestly didn’t know what to do.

She turned from the Elder to the Brotherhood soldiers. “Stand down,” she commanded them. “Put away your guns. You will shoot no one here today.”

Her authoritative manner compelled them, and three of the soldiers promptly complied. She stared at the fourth. “I didn’t hear you flip your safety back on soldier. Stand down.”

“No. You don’t have the authority to command me. You’re not even Brotherhood of Steel.”

She was looking at Maxson again now. She wasn’t asking for him to control his soldier. She didn’t need his permission to deal with his insolence herself. Kells felt like he was watching a lethal, high stakes card game. The Elder didn’t even blink.

A slow, rather ominous smile curved the General’s lips. Kells didn’t think that was a friendly smile. He didn’t know what that was, but it was unsettling.

She turned and walked directly up to the power armor-clad soldier until they were physically touching. The Elder’s glittering eyes followed her. 

“Can you hear me, soldier?”

“Of course I can. Get out of here, civilian. Go back to weeding your garden or something. I’d hate to have to flick a finger and kill you. Maybe you can come back after you’ve invested in some power armor for yourself. Then maybe you’ll be worth the attention of a paladin. ” He laughed arrogantly.

“What’s your name, soldier?”

“Knight Paladin Kevin Frost of the Brotherhood of Steel”, he said proudly.

“Can you feel this, Knight Paladin Kevin Frost of the Brotherhood of Steel?” She nudged him just above his hip, between the plates of his armor. “This is the spot I kill you from. You see, I do have power armor. I know where the vulnerable areas are. Did you know in your unmodified T-60 you have six? Your armor won’t save you from me.”

He felt the pressure of her knife on the fabric, and then a prick as the cold metal met his skin. He swung his arm out at her. He didn’t care who the hell she was. He was going to bash her damn head in. 

The General anticipated it and ducked under his arm. She stabbed her knife into the armors’ power core and stepped back.

The fuel cell sputtered and hissed, contaminating the internal environment of the suit. Crackling and smoking, the armor snapped open, revealing the back side of Knight Paladin Kevin Frost of the Brotherhood of Steel. Not waiting for him to exit, she yanked the back collar of his uniform. He awkwardly fell out backward onto the ground. The General coolly kicked him in the head and he collapsed like a sack of rocks. 

She turned to the other three soldiers. “Thank you for understanding the situation and standing down.” Almost as an afterthought, she added, “And don’t worry, he’s not dead.” 

“Yes Ma’am!”

Kells was thunderstruck.

She turned back to Maxson. “Please get in your vertibird and leave. I can bring Jack to visit all the time. You can watch him grow up. Maybe he’ll join the Brotherhood on his own so he can be just like you. Please Elder. Please think about what you’re doing here. What’s going to happen when you shoot ghouls who are Minuteman settlers? When you start taking my people because you think they’re synths? There will be war. A very short war, I promise you. But it will be war, all over again. Is that what you wanted when you came to the Commonwealth? To conquer all and become king? I know what the mythical ‘Prydwyn’ is. We don’t need your war. We need your help.”

Maxson turned to Kells. “Get the boy.” 

“Don’t.” She was warning him. “Maxson…..”

“I will take him. He will grow up in the Brotherhood and be a strong leader of men. We will bring peace to the Commonwealth, whatever it takes.”

“No. You will not.” They stood there, glaring flames of ice at each other.

He didn’t see it coming but Kells did. Her right backhand blow hit Maxson squarely in the jaw. She continued the movement, with a left haymaker to his temple with her following fist. 

Maxson’s ears rang. Did she…did she just hit him? Twice? Son. Of. A. Bitch.

He stiffened as she drove her fist squarely into his solar plexus. “Ok General Christopher, you want to play? Let’s play. And then I will take the boy.”

“Good luck with that Elder Maxson,” she snarled. She launched at him.

Lancer Captain Kells had seen many things in his life, but nothing prepared him for what he was seeing now. The General caught Maxson under the jaw, but he reached out and snagged her by the neck. Choking, she kicked out at the side of his knee. She slipped away as he staggered, and punched him in the kidney. He swung around and struck her in the jaw. She fell to her knees.

The Warbird lifted again. The General threw out her arm. She spat out a mouthful of blood and yelled STAND DOWN! The Warbird lowered to the ground again. The young man with the sniper rifle and a red-haired woman leapt out and raced toward the combatants.

Maxson dragged her up by the back of her shirt and returned the kidney punch. She folded, but twisted and grabbed his arm, pulling him off balance. She kicked him in the face as he was yanked over her.

He landed heavily. Damn it I’ve seen that move before. 

The General rolled to a crouch, just out of range. She taunted him. “Prydwyn, call sign Scabbard. Approximately 200 meters long by 30 meters high and weighs nearly 40,000 tons. Light armor plating, filled with lots and lots of very flammable hydrogen gas. Thrusters provide lift, and it’s powered by a nuclear reactor that you stole when you destroyed a settlement back in the Capitol Wasteland. Unlimited weaknesses. And Maureen is desperate for coolant, or you’ll have to land your pretty little scow.”

“How do you know all of this? Who’s your spy?” He crashed into her, crushing her beneath him. 

Goddamn it. One thing he definitely has me beat by is weight. She lay there a moment, feeling the mockery of their positions, so like yet unlike this morning. Nose-to-nose, she could see in his eyes he was feeling it as well.’ I loved you this morning!’ she screamed inside her head. ‘What happened to you!?’

Jack started crying. She could hear him in the house behind her, and the voices of Kells and Keecy arguing. Christine’s eyes went flat. 

“Leave.”

“No.”

She snatched Maxson’s bottom lip between her teeth and bit hard. He reared his head up, giving her enough room to head-butt his face. Not as hard as she would have liked, but it did the trick. He leaned away far enough for her to get an arm free and she socked him in the ear. She wriggled free. 

“That’s my girl!” Cait crowed from the sidelines. “Hope you can handle a dirty fight, big boy!”

“I do my own spying, Elder. Did you never realize I had been there? Cait! Rob! Stop Kells!”

Maxson motioned to his 3 guards, who had been watching the fight in stunned amazement. “Get the boy,” he ordered. He lunged at her, his hand closing on her ankle. “I’m trying not to hurt you Christine! “

“Then you’re a stupid man.” She kicked out, connecting with his shoulder. “The only way you’ll war on my settlers is if you kill me first. I will fight you, and I’ll never stop. Not until I’m dead, Elder. Not until you’re dead.” 

She closed with Maxson and hit him with a lightening cross to his jaw again. She blocked his return strike, and spun under her own arm to deliver a punishing elbow to the middle of his spine. 

He grunted. Twisting in the opposite direction, he grabbed her as they collided. Pinned chest to chest, The General and the Elder stared at each other, breathing heavily. He had her immobilized.

Her deathclaw smile slowly curled. “You’re not protecting your groin, Elder.”

He fell for the misdirect. In the brief second when his eyes widened in realization, she stamped with all of her weight on his instep. His grip on her loosened. She snapped toward his nose with her forehead, but he remembered that move and jerked his head to the side to avoid the impact. Foiled, she threw her weight at his shoulder, on the side of his injured foot. Overbalanced, he stumbled back.

She broke free and crouched there, fists contracting and releasing. “Four, Maxson. Four. Did you not understand when the four squires showed up in your office looking for an assignment that you knew nothing about? Proctor Ingram bring you four wrenches out of the blue? Four bottles of bourbon neatly lined up in from of the windows in your command deck? Four pillows magically appearing on your bed? All the papers on your desk neatly divided into four stacks? The initiate bringing you four cups of coffee you didn’t ask for? God you’re dense!”

“You left these calling cards every time you were on my ship? How many times have you been up there? Why didn’t you come to me?” 

She held her fists up like she was ready to spar. The second he stepped closer, she ran at him and locked her arms around his shoulder and neck. As her momentum carried her up, she swung her whole weight around him and flipped him to the ground. She knelt on his neck. “I’ve been up there many, many times. I wanted to see who you were. I know the real you. I wanted to observe the Elder. I don’t like him.”

He was having great difficulty breathing now. “Christine...”

“No!” she screamed at him, leaping up. She kicked him solidly in the ribs. She could hear the baby crying, and arguments and threats from the little house. “I said you never get to call me that again! Never! I can’t love half a man!” She stumbled.

Taking the opening, he grabbed her from behind, and locked her neck in a choke hold. She ground out a string of curses as she swung and twisted and kicked impotently. She couldn’t connect with anything hard enough to make a difference. Through her darkening vision, she saw her settlers coming closer, guns in their hands. “NO! NO! STAND DOWN!” she choked out, waving them off. The last thing she saw was them hesitating… then everything went dark.

“I love you too,” he whispered softly, laying her gently down. 

 

She woke in Rob’s arms while he was trying to lay her on her bed. Christine thrashed and kicked, choking and coughing. She stumbled to the doorway. The Brotherhood vertibird was gone. She leapt over the rail, landing on her knees on the other side. Struggling to her feet, she staggered to the house Keecy had been holding Jack in. It was empty. 

Cait touched her arm. Christine spun to face her, tears welling in her eyes. “He…”

“I know.” 

“He…”

“Yes. He took the little boy. They’re gone.”

The settlers of Egret Tours were quietly cleaning up the mess from their interrupted ‘Friday Night’. Every time one started to come over, Cait shook her head at them. Taking the hint, they went back to their tasks, watching sadly.

Rob stood beside her, gently rubbing her back. “It’s okay. Just breathe.”

She turned to him. It was heartbreaking to see the pain in her eyes. She dropped her eyes to the ground and leaned in until her forehead touched his. 

“Rob, how do I breathe?” Tears spilled onto her cheeks. “How do I ever breathe again?”

He took her hands. “For a long time you don’t,” he said quietly. “But someday, someone will come along and give you hope, and show you you’re alive and that you mean something. She’ll teach you to believe in yourself. And show you that you can do the impossible. Maybe she’ll even say, ‘There’s always a way’. Chris, that’s when you’ll start to breathe again.”

Christine smiled at her sweet friend through her tears. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, rocking gently. Cait laid her head against Christine’s and held onto the both of them. Cocooned within the love of her two dearest friends, Christine closed her eyes and silently wept.

She wasn’t really alone here in Hell. She had thought her previous life was full, and here it was as empty as the wasteland surrounding her, but she saw now it was the other way around. Here she had dear friends that meant more, because they were willing to go through deep pain, and the daily prospect of death with her. She ate, drank, and breathed her Holy War to return peace to the Commonwealth, no matter the cost to herself. And her friends battled right there beside her. She was alone in her heart because she pushed everyone back to a safe distance. Cait and Rob refused to stay away. They were right here. They were always right here. They picked her up when she broke inside, and held her until she could see again. That’s what really fills an empty heart. That’s what really keeps you from being alone. 

When she opened her eyes again, she was looking directly into a twinkling pair of deep green eyes. Cait kissed her forehead. 

“Time to go kill something yet?” 

Christine sniffled and nodded, wiping her nose on her sleeve. A broken laugh escaped her. “Oh yeah. Most definitely. Dear God I need to kill something. A lot of somethings. Now.” A smile slowly curved her lips.

Cait cheered.

Rob groaned. “Can’t you two find some other way to work off stress? I know I have a few ideas… No? You sure? Because I think they’re great ideas. One in particular…” 

He looked at Christine’s raised eyebrow. “Fine”, he grumped. “But you can’t use my sniper rifle. Chris, I tricked out a new gauss for you while we were waiting for the Warbird to get fixed. It’s behind your seat with…”

“HER seat? HER seat? I’ve been piloting ‘her baby’ for months! When do I get a baby of my own? I want a seat! I want MY SEAT!”

Christine smiled slyly at her friend. “Gunner HQ at GNN?”

Cait stopped mid-tirade. “Okay, you’re the pilot. I want me guns!”

 

In the afternoon, exactly four days later, Paladin Danse was startled by a knock on his door. The Prydwyn was quiet, almost everyone was down below at the airport watching a crucial new test on Liberty Prime. He was trying to finish his reports. It was an almost impossible task with a small child crawling on him and crumpling his papers and sticking things in his little mouth. Elder Maxson had brought the little fellow back with him from the Commonwealth. The Elder wouldn’t talk about the mission. He had been adamant, ordering Danse alone to keep the boy safe when the baby wasn’t immediately with him. Right now, the Elder was with Liberty Prime, so Danse was stuck babysitting. He opened the door.

A helmeted lancer knight stood there. “Sir, Elder Maxson requests the presence of the little boy down below. He wants to show him Liberty Prime. I am to take him down and deliver him directly to the Elder himself.”

Danse almost groaned with relief. “I’ll get his little flight jacket.”

“Sir, the Elder asked you to put your reports on his desk as soon as you’re through with them, then meet him in his room with the four special bottles of bourbon from the command deck.”

“Four special bottles? What special bottles?”

“I don’t know sir. I’m just relaying what he said.”

Danse wrestled the jacket onto the wiggly toddler, then handed him off to the lancer. “There you go, Jack. Report to the Elder.” He saluted the boy. “Ad Victorium soldier.

The little boy clumsily banged his fist on his own chest. “Adda bum bum DA!”

Danse chuckled. “Close enough.” 

 

It was nearing five o’clock in the morning when Christine left Vault 85. She had ditched the stolen vertibird and brotherhood uniform by the Lexington Super Duper Mart to throw off her track, and meet up with her co-conspirators. They made their perilous way south to the best home she could think of for little Jack. 

Gwen, the overseer of Vault 85, had been surprised to find Christine, Cait, and Rob on the other side of her bedroom door at three in the morning. Christine told Gwen and her wife Lynda everything, from saving Arthur from the supermutants, to retrieving the baby from the Prydwyn the day before. She didn’t go into every delicate detail, but she made sure Gwen understood the flow and depth of her relationship with Maxson, and their mighty clash over the fate of the boy and the Commonwealth. Maxson would not let the boy go that easily. He would be searching for him. Taking the boy in might be putting her Vault at risk. And Christine herself would not be able to visit for a long time. She could not take a chance of leading the Brotherhood here.

“We’ll keep him safe for you, Christine.”

“No. Gwen, he’s not for me.” She swallowed against the thickening in her throat. “He needs you. He needs loving parents to bring him up to be a strong man who makes his own choices. And that’s not me, Gwen. He needs you two. You’re his mother now. You’re his family.”

There were tears in Gwen’s eyes as Rob passed the precious sleeping baby into Lynda’s arms. “Christine, I…”

Christine leaned over and gave the little boy one last kiss on his forehead. “It’s okay. I know,” she said.

“Welcome home, Jack.”

 

Christine felt disconnected, as she slipped away into the morning stillness with Cait and Rob. She felt like her heart was ripped in two, and yet neither piece was with her. But she still had a very important job to do. If Maxson wanted a wild goose chase, she’d give him one he’d never forget. 

As predicted, the Brotherhood blanketed the Commonwealth with patrols. There were sightings of the General everywhere. She killed raiders at the old Corvega factory in Lexington. She rescued a kidnapped settler from the Boston Mayoral Shelter near Fort Hagen. She cleared the mirelurks from Spectacle Island and set up a settlement base and beacon. She took out the Gunners downtown. But every time the patrols closed in, she disappeared. Fighting against a group of supermutants around the base of Trinity Tower, Paladin Danse had been shocked to realize the person smacking a stimpak into his neck was the General herself. She gave him a cheeky wink and smile, then slipped back into the fray. When the battle was over, she was gone.

Colonel Garvey assured them repeatedly that this was how the General operated. She wandered the Commonwealth helping her settlers, destroying anything that threatened them, clearing the way for new settlements, and helping whoever she came across. They sent out messages to her on Radio Freedom and she stopped at settlements to acknowledge them. She reported sites cleared for salvage, modified the guns she had collected for the settlers, planted crops, listened to the woes and accomplishments of her people, and distributed salvaged and repaired armor. This was who she was.

A pair of Brotherhood soldiers was stationed at every Minuteman settlement to ‘help defend’, but everyone knew it was lie and continued to plead ignorance about the General’s whereabouts.

Maxson was furious. Every soldier he could spare was out on patrol looking for her. She was the key to finding the boy, he knew it. How could she have done this? The boy was safe and cared for aboard the Prydwyn. Didn’t she understand…? No. Of course she didn’t. She was too obstinate. Couldn’t she see that…? No. She didn’t see it that way. DAMN THE WOMAN TO HELL!!! He slammed his fists onto his desk and continue to seethe. 

A helmeted Lancer Knight knocked politely, then stuck her head in the door. “Elder Maxson, sir, Knight Captain Cade...” She ducked out and slammed the door as four crystal decanters of very fine bourbon smashed into the back of the door, one after another. 

An iron grip fastened on the lancer’s arm. Knight Captain Cade himself stood there, silently waiting. 

Christine didn’t try to break free from the old doctor. Through her visor, she returned his calm gaze.

“He’s not ready to talk yet,” she said quietly.

“No child, he’s not,” the doctor returned. He patted her arm before letting it go. “Will you wait this time?”

Her jaw dropped. “This time? You’ve seen me before?”

His eyes twinkled. “This is the twenty-sixth time I’ve seen you aboard the Prydwyn. You didn’t cause trouble, so I saw no reason to report it. As insubordinate as it undoubtedly is, I’m rather fond of watching you anonymously stir him up. You’re good for him. However, in exchange for my continued silence, I want a blood sample. I’m sure you understand why.”

Christine smiled sadly at him. “You can have all you want. My blood would serve you no purpose though. I was in a very bad car accident when I was 19 and had to have a great deal of surgery. I don’t have the equipment to reproduce anymore. You’ll never have to worry about a bastard heir from me wandering the Commonwealth.” 

“Does he know this?”

She shook her head. “I imagine he’d he stunned by what he doesn’t know about me.”

She caught the door to Maxson’s office as it slammed open, almost smacking the doctor. The Elder saw the two standing together as he grasped the ladder rail. 

“Hello Doctor,” he said bleakly. “Knight Lancer, what did you need?”

She stared through her visor at him. His face was expressionless, his pain-filled eyes the only life in his visage. His lips drew her eyes. Once laughing and tender, they were drawn tightly together, as if holding back so many things he wished he could say, that would end up meaning nothing. 

Christine wavered. She so desperately wanted to take him in her arms, to kiss his lips until he smiled again. To hold him. To see his eyes light up again when she entered the room. To see the devil in them as they challenged each other to soaring heights making love. To hear him chuckle at his little boy. For the three of them to be together like the make-believe family they had so briefly, so contentedly been. 

But this is how it is, she painfully realized. Leaders can never have lives of their own. Never have loves of their own. She and Arthur had sacrificed their love, and the promise of a life together, on the Altar of The Greater Good. The Commonwealth won. But they themselves had lost everything. 

This is why leaders are so lonely. Nothing is ever theirs to keep. 

 

Moments ticked by. She couldn’t open her mouth. He was right here and she couldn’t manage a single word.

Cade broke the silence. “She was on an errand for me, Elder. Taken care of now.”

Maxson grunted and resumed climbing down the ladder.

Christine was still staring at where he had just been. The old doctor watched a tear slide off her jaw. His heart grieved for the Elder and the General.

“Let’s go get that blood, child.”


	13. Learning to breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are returning to the main story thread. The vault door opens, and Christine takes her first look at the world she left behind.

Chapter 13

The first thing that hit Christine was the smell. It smelled dead. No earthy, vibrant growth, no sunshine-laden essence. Even in her past, nights when the ground had been frozen and shrouded in snow, the air had smelled alive. The sun was out, but this place just smelled…, well, dead. Like an empty tin can whose inner residue has long since turned to dust, leaving nothing. Or a piece of driftwood that’s lain in the sun so long you can no longer smell the ocean. Just… nothing. She stared at trees that no longer knew what they themselves used to smell like. They were skeletons, like the people in the vault, so long gone even their scent was just a memory. So dead. So overpoweringly… nothing. 

So it was true. Anna had said a nuclear holocaust had consumed their world. This was the result of the phthisis. After everything died, this is what was left.

Christine had never been in a war, but everything looked exactly as she would have expected the world after a nuclear bomb explosion to look like. Rusted bits of vehicles, dead trees, rubble, trash, scraggly brown grass tufts, scattered skeletons and bones. Everything so pathetic. The desolated nothingness resonated in her very bones. 

She stood there in shock as the completeness of the devastation sunk in. Her brain felt suspended. As ragged and blasted as the world around her, it simply couldn’t comprehend the vastness and totality of what her eyes were seeing. She was suffocating. She was caught in a horrible nightmare, and even her scream couldn’t wake her. Christine just stood there, unable to stop her soul’s reaction as the truth wove its heavy shadow around her.

Relax, she told herself. Breathe. Close your eyes. Don’t think about how it used to be. Relax, and breathe. This is what it is now. There must be more to it than what you see. There must be more. Breathe. Feel for the life that’s left out there. There has to be life. Good life, not just mutated bugs. Deep breath now. Deep breaths.

She opened her eyes.

Nothing had changed.

 

Holding her bat at the ready in case more mutant bugs appeared, she gingerly picked her way around the yard surrounding the vault platform. 

A blasted, faded, torn billboard advertised the paradise and peace of mind of the Vault. She thought of the dead people below. Was that what they expected paradise to be like? Did Nora believe in peace of mind after watching her husband shot and her son stolen, as she herself slipped into death? Had peace and paradise enveloped her as she embraced that final shore? Or was she lost, forever searching for the reason she had lived?

Giving herself a mental shake, Christie continued to edge her way down the hillside, her goal was the ruined neighborhood below.

Peering carefully into every building as she crept along, she trembled with hyper-vigilance, dreading any sign of a marauding bug infestation. Those bastards were unnervingly big. And scary. And were pretty damn cheerful about making her into their dinner. And frankly just plain icky. 

She almost swallowed her heart when a boisterous voice behind her bellowed out, “Well look who’s here! And just who might you be, Mum? “

Christine let out a screech and planted her bat right in the side of a round, floaty, robot-y looking thing, knocking it a solid 10 yards back. It rightened itself and came at her with terrifying speed, a buzz saw on one appendage and a torch on the other. In that remote, perverse corner of her mind that seemed to find humor in her continuous run of impending deaths, she reflected on the headline “Sole Survivor of Cryogenic Holocaust Slaughtered by Irate British Killer Robot”. 

And she started laughing. 

The Irate British Killer Robot slowed, then stopped about 8 feet from the helplessly laughing woman. She was now on her knees, her mirth incapacitating her. She kept trying to stop, but then would explode into merriment again. 

He was unprepared for this reaction from the woman who had just tried to kill him. What was he supposed to do? Kill her while she was helpless, before she grabbed her bat and swung again? She had a pistol sticking out of her backpack. Would she try that on him when she regained her sanity? Would she regain her sanity at all? To judge by her weak hiccupping, he sincerely doubted it. In the end he settled on doing what he did best.

“Mum? Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?”

 

The evening was pleasantly warm and breezy as Christine sat by a small fire with Codsworth. The polite “Mr. Handy” robot had waited patiently for her to get control of herself, then dusted her off, made her tea, and showed her around the remains of the little neighborhood of Sanctuary Hills. In return, she told him everything she could remember about her life before, and her frozen adventure.

Codsworth was aghast to learn of the deaths of all the occupants of the vault. It was the home of the very woman who had died in Christine’s arms that he had been tending for 200 years with such dedication. Codsworth had been the personal helper of Nora and Nathan. The news of their deaths hit him hard. But oddly, the kidnapping of Shaun gave him hope.

“The baby could still be out there!” Codsworth exclaimed. He zipped around the neighborhood on an exhaustive search under bushes, in rusting cars, even in mailboxes, as if the boy had been right under their noses the whole time, and they had simply overlooked him. 

Christine watched sadly. Making a promise to a dying woman was a powerful thing. And she didn’t know where to even begin. A person completely encased in a white chemical suit? A bald man with an eyepatch and gravelly voice? That the man had shot Nathan instead of simply overpowering the numbed and confused man might be a clue. And why did he restart the cryogenic process instead of leaving the residents of the pods sluggish and trapped? Or kill all of them? She shook her head. Maybe the Irate British Killer Robot could help.

Over an hour went by before Codsworth returned to the fire and Christine. If a machine could look dejected, he surely did. 

She tried to distract him from his obvious pain. Staring into her teacup, she said, “Your kindness and this cup of tea are the only things working to convince me I haven’t died and gone to Hell. Codsworth, I don’t even know where to start to put my life back together. However long that will be. Did I tell you I have radiation poisoning? That’s why Anna and Elliott kept me under in the end. There’s no cure. Funny, I fit in perfectly here; radiated world, radiated me.” She laughed mirthlessly. “I think I’m going to need something stronger than tea. A lot stronger. Does alcohol still exist?”

Codsworth was astonished. “But Mum, I can remove your radiation for you. RadAway is a common drug. In the world as you see it now, we need it, or I’m afraid the human race would disappear completely. Follow me please.” He floated away into another building.

Christine’s jaw dropped. Did he just say-

“Mum?”

“Coming! I’m coming!” She raced after the little robot.

“… binds with the radioactive particles in your system and flushes them away in your urine. You may feel nauseous, or have any of a number of digestive tract repercussions, but RadAway does indeed clear the radiation from your system…” He sat Christine on a dilapidated couch and inserted an IV into her arm. In a bemused state of tentative hopefulness, she listened to the Mr. Handy prattle on. It seemed to make him very happy having someone to talk to.

“…right before the war by a Dr. Beverly A. Wilson, right here in the Commonwealth. You can make it yourself…”

Christine sat bolt upright. “Did you say Bev Wilson?”

“Mum?”

“Codsworth, Bev Wilson was a student working at MIT with us while we were doing the cryo experiments. The experiments were illegal, so I couldn’t tell anyone how I got radiation poisoning. Bev was a student of my doctor- the one who diagnosed me. She was obsessed with the effects of radiation. Dear God she drove me batty with all the questions and blood draws and testing! But she created something that’s allowed survivors of the war to keep living. And in the end, she did cure me.” Christine smiled to herself. Go Bev!

“Well isn’t that amazing! “ 

He hovered closer. “Mum, if I may attempt to address your earlier query? 

Christine felt the despondency of her situation crowding in again. She looked up from watching the IV in her arm. Pushing the disheartening feelings away, she smiled encouragingly at the robot. 

“Of course Codsworth. At this point I would take advice from that rock over there. Please tell me you have better ideas than it would.”

If the Mr. Handy could have smiled back, he would have. Taking the robotic equivalent of a deep breath, he plunged in. 

“As I see it, Mum, everything you’ve ever known has been gone for over 200 years. You’re surrounded by an unfamiliar and dangerous world. Houses are built where you last saw a building full of labs and an off-site campus. Breathing the air is bad. Most of the food here is thoroughly irradiated. Clean water is hard to find. There are huge insects that want to kill you, and if I might say, they’re the least deadly of the enemies you’ll encounter out here. In school you majored in Philosophy you say? It won’t be of any use to you here. Books are a rare commodity. And music? Diamond City Radio plays the same 8 songs over and over and over. I don’t know how comforting you’ll find that. And I haven’t seen a guitar or piano since before the bombs fell. Do you see this world around you, Mum? This is all there is. This is your life now. I don’t believe you can put your old life back together, Miss Christine.” 

Codsworth paused to center his one eye bulb on her. “I believe you will need to start creating a completely new one.”

Christine stared at him.

“Mum?” He removed the IV.

Nothing.

“Mum? Are you alright?”

Nothing.

Oh dear, I’ve broken her. Will she start laughing again? Codsworth felt terrible. 

Christine stared at her new friend’s single bulbous metal eye. 

“200 years, Codsworth? Did you just say 200 years?” She felt her brain glazing over again. “What year is it?”

“Why its 2287, Mum. You did say you were frozen in 2017. You’ve been asleep for 270 years.”

The dinged metal and chipped paint started to fade from view.

Time enough ahead to figure things out, she thought muzzily, as Christine slid without a struggle into the involuntary oblivion her brain, heart, and spirit so desperately needed. 

Elvis had left the building. And Christine went with him.

 

Three days later, Christine thought she was well into the fourth circle of hell at least. Codsworth came with her to the Vault every night. They cleared out bugs, and rebuilt the fortress room. She drank only the water from the Vault. Commonwealth water made her vomit. 

So did all the food. Diarrhea became her constant companion, as her body rebelled against ingesting any irradiated food. Codsworth introduced her to Stimpaks; the injection unit she had found on her first trip through the vault. If she injected herself with it, it helped stabilize her health. She was still losing weight, but stimpaks were a small victory, a way to fight back.

She spent her days wandering the ruins of Sanctuary with her new friend. They had many fine arguments as they poked about, harvesting anything that could be of use. The latest had been about the best use for a combat knife they had found. In your boot to attack enemies with, or by the cook fire to cut food. Swords to plowshares or both? 

Learning which guns took which ammo and how to fire them was a new experience for her. Ages ago, her brother had spent time with her at the sandpit near their home. She knew what a BB gun looked like and how to pull the trigger, but that was about it. Codsworth repeatedly impressed upon her the importance of being able to defend herself. She shuddered to learn that the only law now was that which you created for yourself. It was only a tiny percentage of life in the Commonwealth that wouldn’t try to kill her on sight. 

The combat knife quickly found a permanent home in her boot.

“Mum, we really need to find you a teacher,” Codsworth finally remarked one day, after Christine had cut herself for the umpteenth time on her own knife. 

Despite the blood trickling down her arm, Christine chuckled.

In some of her most beloved movies, a ninja butler character named Cato constantly attacked his secret agent boss. The sneaky assaults kept his boss’s skills sharp and attitude vigilant. Codsworth had adopted this role with relish, becoming Christine’s very own personal shadow assassin. He seemed to live for sneaking up on Christine with furtive stealth to test her growing reflexes and skills. He was jubilant when she finally dubbed him a true Cato, and officially changed his name to reflect it. Not very British, he admitted, but it gave him great pride. He wore the name as a badge of honor, handed down from past generations of ninja masters.

Despite their successes, the newly- renamed Cato despaired. Christine reacted instantaneously when he attacked her, often dinging his hull with her knife before he could retreat, but she inevitably cut herself. Every. Single. Time.

They rapidly depleted their small stock of 10mm rounds on target practice. Radroaches were plentiful enough to drill on, and she had even killed two bloatflies. (Dear god those were even more disgusting than radroaches! Christine had run screaming to the shower in the vault when she learned the bloatflies were actually shooting their own larvae at her.) At this point though, all they had left were the last dozen rounds in the magazine of the gun itself. Luckily her melee skills were improving. She could hopefully get more practice with her knife and bat before the need for more ammunition drove them to venture over the bridge that connected Sanctuary Hills to the rest of the Commonwealth for more ammunition. 

They found a workbench outfitted to allow the production of medicines behind a ruined house, and hauled it under the portico across the street from her home, next to another more traditional-looking workbench. A hammer, wrench, and beaker sat proudly on top. Workbenches made specifically for the repair and modification of both armor and weapons were dragged into place under the portico too. Cato had been over the moons at their discovery. He had explained that these would be invaluable as time went on. A heavy iron rack that looked more like a torture device than anything else also delighted Cato. Power armor, he explained, could be repaired here.

“You’ll love power armor,” he raved. “The mechanical exoskeleton will keep you from cutting yourself.”

Christine snorted. 

They replanted the food crops they found around the neighborhood into the front yard. A cooking fire was relocated to her driveway. Two pots, a cup, and a cracked bowl turned it into a kitchen. 

Christine learned to recognize what passed for drugs and food. Instamash, a bland potato powder, became the first food to stay with Christine, when she cooked it with water from the vault. When they discovered that cooking radiated food and water removed the poisonous substances that made her ill, experiments in food preparation began. Carrots had never been a favorite of hers, but roasted over the fire, they were distinctly edible. They couldn’t figure out how to cook melon because it wouldn’t stay on a stick over the fire though. Stewed in a pot it was pretty disgusting too. They set it aside for now.

Radroach meat was surprisingly palatable. Kind of a beefy, peanut buttery kind of taste. Beef and peanut butter were two things Christine never would have thought would even remotely taste good together. She laughed aloud. Anna had continuously grossed her out by dipping french fries in her chocolate shakes. She wondered what her old friend would have thought of her spreading peanut butter on a steak. 

The abatement of her nausea and digestive issues was reason for celebration. Christine could finally eat and keep it down. Her temperament improved dramatically.

Paper currency became toilet paper when Cato explained that bottle caps were money now. Bottle caps! Christine shook her head. Nothing about this place surprised her anymore. 

They cleaned out the house Cato had been tending, dragging debris out, and the little bit of furniture that they found around the neighborhood that had been salvageable, in. 

In silent, solemn ceremony, they rightened baby Shaun’s room then closed the door. If he was still out there somewhere, they would find him. Until then, the room would remain ready, but closed. 

Christine brushed off her hands and stared around the living room with satisfaction. “What do you think Cato? Can we live here?”

He executed a quick spin and zipped through the house, inspecting every room. He returned with a flourish.

“Mum,” he said, “it looks like home.” 

 

A small whine escaped the dog’s lips as he watched the woman and the robot timidly make their way across the rickety bridge. They were coming closer! He scooted to another bush and hunkered down again. Now he was close enough to see them and hear their voices. His tail thumped against the dusty ground.

“…feel so exposed! Anything could be hiding out there, just waiting to attack us. Raiders. Gunners. Yogi-“

“Yao guai, mum.”

“Yes! Those guys! More bugs and flies... do you have snakes? What’s the mutated version of a snake? Did birds mutate? I saw this movie once. Oh God, I’m going back!” 

She turned, but the robot zipped around and cut her off. “You can do it, Mum. We HAVE to do it. There are people out there, maybe as afraid as we are. There’s safety in numbers, Mum. We need some more numbers. And ammunition. We need more ammunition at the very least. Hold your gun out in front of you. There. Be brave.”

Dog half-rose from his hiding place, then flattened down again as the woman snapped around toward him.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT??!!” She whirled and started running madly back over the bridge. 

“WHAT?! WHAT DID YOU SEE?! WHAT WAS IT??!” The robot went tearing back over the bridge, right after her.

Dog trotted out into the road and watched them go. He laid down, and put his head on his paws. 

He had almost had a friend.

 

“Remember the other day when I said I was in the fourth circle of hell? We are rapidly zooming in on the seventh. Just sayin.” 

“Yes mum. How many circles are there? Before you’re officially in hell, I mean?”

The woman and the robot were making yet another attempt at crossing the bridge. They had been at it all day. This time, Dog had helpfully killed a Bad People and a Bad Dog that had been fighting on the road. He hoped the woman would see the dead bodies. Then she would see how wonderful and helpful he was, and want him to stay with her. 

His soft brown eyes grew sad. He missed people. Good People, not the kind that threw knives at him and tried to shoot him. He had travelled all over the Commonwealth searching for Good People. Some had let him trot alongside their families. Sometimes he got to curl up by their fires. One had even given him a piece of brahmin meat. He liked brahmin meat. And he liked Good People.

He tried to return their kindness by scouting the road ahead. Sometimes he found things to bring to the Good People. If he found a big thing, he led the Good People to it. Their paws seemed better for picking up big things than his were. He stared at his front paws. Oh well. The Good People always seemed happy to receive his gifts, even if he couldn’t carry some of them himself. 

But the Bad People who threw knives and killed everything always found them. Dog tried so hard to save all the Good People he found! He snarled and scratched and fought and bit, but every time there were too many Bad People. The Good People would die, and the Bad People would go back to trying to kill him.

“CCCCCCCato? ….What am I looking at?” The woman had found his dead offerings. 

“That would be a dead raider, and a dead feral dog, by the looks. They’re DEAD, Mum. Very DEAD.”

“That’s good. I like them dead. Dead is good. Dogs mutated into these horrible things? That’s so sad. I love dogs.” She froze. “What killed them Cato? Can you tell? Was it Yogi?

“Yao guai, Mum. It looks-“

Dog pranced proudly into the road. “WOOF!”

He sadly watched the woman and robot run screaming back over the bridge.

 

Dog sat just outside the circle of light cast by the flickering fire. His eyes were closed. He was listening to the sound of the woman’s voice. When she wasn’t screaming, she had a very nice voice. Low and soothing. A peaceful Good People voice. He hoped that when she saw him, she wouldn’t run away screaming again.

She laughed at something the robot said. Dog liked her laugh too. It was warm. But sad. 

Then she started to sing.

“When you try your best but you don’t succeed,

When you get what you want, but not what you need,

When you feel so tired but you can’t sleep

Stuck in reverse…”

Dog was elated! This was the best kind of Good person! She made the beautiful sounds you could feel all over, even on the inside. Not many Good People made the beautiful sounds.

He remembered another woman who had made beautiful sounds. She had been sad too. He had walked with her until she went into the town with the tall fence, and the lights that said ‘Goodneighbor”. He had sat there outside the gate, waiting for her to come back out to him. Eventually some Bad People scared him away. Sometimes when he went back to the town with the big fence, he could hear her inside, making the beautiful sounds. But she had never returned for him, and he had moved on.

He wanted to sit next to the new woman by the fire, and maybe put his head on her lap. Would she like that? Would that make her happy? Maybe she would rub his ears. Or scratch his belly. That was the best. That would make him happy. 

Mostly he just wanted to lay there and listen.

“And the tears come streaming down your face,

And you lose something you can’t replace,

When you love someone but it goes to waste

Could it be worse?

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try

To fix you.”

Dog could feel it in her song, her deep, deep sorrow. Something was hurting in her, something too far inside for even her to reach. People did that sometimes. They had hurts that piled on hurts, that piled on more hurts and more hurts, until that’s all there was. Hurts.

The woman quietly started to weep.

“Mum? Miss Christine? Oh dear. I didn’t mean to make you cry again. It was such a pleasure hearing you sing. Well then, shall I just go us make some more tea?” The robot turned and cruised back into the house.

Good People should never cry alone. Every Good Dog knows this. He rose, and cautiously padded over to the sobbing woman. Tentatively, he snuffed her face. 

Christine lifted her head and stared at the dog. 

“You can eat me if you want,” she said tearfully. “I …can’t. I can’t do this. I’m done fighting.”

Dog wuffed. He wagged his tail and started licking her face. Blindly, she reached out, hugged him close, and started crying into his soft, thick fur like her heart was breaking. 

He did it! She didn’t scream! She liked him! She liked him! Well sort of. She was so sad. But she was letting him help her! That meant she liked him! Maybe she had some brahmin meat. 

Wait.

He growled, deep in his throat.

Christine froze. The dog WAS a feral. He was going to rip her throat out. 

Codsworth came out with a cup of tea. “Here you go Mum. Nice and hot. Wait, is that-“ 

The teacup and saucer shattered on the broken street. Codsworth went straight at the dog, buzz saw and blowtorch fully extended.

Christine was dumbfounded when he zoomed past the dog and into the darkness beyond. Dog wheeled and shot after him, barking angrily.

I’m going mad, she thought. This is what going mad feels like. I never know what’s going on, or what to do, or how to help. Things attack and I don’t know if they’re good or bad, and there’s nowhere to hide, and money is toilet paper, and bottle caps are money, and food makes you sick and water makes you sick, and breathing makes you sick …

Dog’s barking was joined by the sound of men yelling, coarse laughter, and gunfire. Codsworth was shouting. A woman’s crude taunting was cut off abruptly in a gurgling scream. Raiders! Raiders were attacking them!

She leapt up. What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? Christine’s first impulse was to run to the safety of the vault. But Codsworth was out there in the dark! They would hurt him! And the dog! That beautiful, soft dog who was trying to lick away my tears wasn’t growling at me, she realized. He smelled the raiders! She jerked from one direction to the other, not knowing which way to run. Then the dog let out an agonized yelp. He whined, then yelped again.

Anger rushed into her, a dark ugly surge that suffocated everything else. NONONONONONO! No one hurt her dog! No one hurt her Cato! Her friends had run bravely into the dark, attacking the raiders to save HER. They were afraid, just like her, but had purposely run into a fight with raiders and didn’t even know how many. And in the dark. The realization of their courage stunned her.

She would return the favor tenfold.

“I am going to fuck you up’” she hissed under her breath. “CATO AND DOG ARE MY FRIENDS!” She snatched up her pistol.

A dirty man with a cruel smile stepped into the light.

Fresh blood and scorch marks liberally decorated his ragged pants. He wore thick leather plates with spikes sticking out of them like porcupine armor. His face looked like it had been tattooed by a demented Indian, and he carried a heavy shotgun loosely in his filthy hands. Hate and insanity burned in his eyes.

Christine stopped dead in her tracks.

“Waaaaall here’s the pretty little songbird.” The raider licked his lips suggestively. “Pretty little mouth. I got good use for that pretty mouth. I’m going to make you sing for me bitch. Then you’re going to-“

Whatever else he was going to say was abruptly cut off as Christine shot her 10mm directly into his face. He dropped like a stone. 

She had just killed a man. She killed a man. He was dead because of her. She had killed him. She did.

She stared at the bloody pulp that used to be the man’s face. It was an ugly mess. But not as ugly as the heart of the man who used to wear it. 

Suddenly she realized that though it should bother her, it didn’t. 

Her brain slammed into clear focus. She had found a way to drink the water. She had found a way to eat the food. She had made a home out of nothing. She knew how to shoot a gun and use her knife and bat. She had friends to help her. She was really here. This was really, truly her life. She was not helpless.

And she was not afraid.

She spat on the raider’s dead body.

“You are done scaring me. You are done killing, and hurting. If you’re dead, you can’t hurt me. You can’t hurt Cato or Dog,” she said coldly. “You can’t hurt anyone. I’m not afraid of you or anything else out there anymore. I know how to stop you now.” 

There would be more radroaches. She would kill them. 

There would be more raiders. She would kill them. 

There would be feral dogs. She would kill them.

And there had to be good people, just as afraid as she was. So many things to be afraid of here. Fear was how you survived. Fear was very real. 

But so was courage. 

Just like Cato and Dog were brave for her, she would be brave for everyone else. Then they could be brave for someone else. And they could be brave for someone else. If they could all stand together and be brave, just maybe the Commonwealth could be redeemed. 

Sparklers lit in her mind. This was where Her Law would begin.

A smile of determination and finality curled her lips. This world was not her prison. 

This world was her playground. 

She roughly pulled shotgun shells and a stimpak from the dead raider’s pouches, snatched up the shotgun, and ran into the night after Cato and the dog.

I’m coming for you now, raiders. Run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW, I'm continuing to use quotes and music from 2017 and earlier because that's what she knows. Big fat kudos to the creators of the works that resonated in me enough to use. 
> 
> And Kellogg has an eyepatch in this, because I need a way for a person who didn't witness the murder to have something distinctive to go on. I'd apologize, but I'm having too much fun rattling canon for it to mean it truly.


	14. Chapter 14. Cait's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The name of this beautiful poem should be "Cait's Song". Please don't arrest me for sharing it.
> 
> Too Broken To Break  
> © Belle Messina
> 
> Here's to the girl with the invincible spirit,  
> No matter how confused her soul may be.  
> She's been broken many times,  
> Searching for love that was just not there.  
> She's learned her lesson now, put up her wall,  
> And never again her heart she'll bare.  
> For she realized that in the end a body is still a body,  
> No matter who's it may be,  
> And love may not exist for anyone   
> So we should all just settle and it'll be easy.  
> But she'll never give in,  
> All she needs is herself, and who ever she is that day,  
> But this she'll never know,  
> Because life is surreal  
> When all she does is feel.  
> She thinks with her passion,  
> Sees the world through her heart  
> Even though many times it's cold, desolate, and dark.  
> Yet at the same time she can see that there may be hope out there,
> 
> -read the rest in the end notes.

She was dead. She wished it with all of her heart. 

She dangled limply from The Boss’s beefy fist, her body an apathetic appendage to the clever mind and strong spirit that were slowly disintegrating into demented fragments, so like the other ragged souls littering the cave. Her brain fought the numbing release of simple unconsciousness, reaching desperately deeper toward the more satisfying oblivion she craved. 

Please. 

Please.

Cait didn’t know who would ever hear her pleas, as they shifted sluggishly over the broken shards that were all that remained of her struggling mind, or what they could possibly do to help her. Naria had said there was a God who heard her prayers. He was the benevolent keeper of all people, she had said, guiding them toward a better life. Her God rewarded His people for their adherence to his will, and punished them when they disobeyed. Faithful Naria had died the day before yesterday, her screams to Her God unheard as The Boss fucked her to death in this very room.

He had been cruelly ramming his filthy shaft into her from behind, slamming her skull on the floor if she cried out or offered any resistance, his tribe of raider animals coarsely cheering and goading him on. When he was done, The Boss had pulled Naria’s broken body off his now sated cock and carelessly tossed her against the wall. The smear of blood she had left as she had slid down the wall was still there. 

Naria must have disobeyed Her God greatly, to be punished so brutally, Cait thought. Or maybe Naria’s death was Her God’s way of releasing her from this wretched existence. Her reward after serving penance for whatever horrible transgressions she had committed. 

What terrible things had Naria done? She wondered. Or had she been rewarded for doing a great good? What good could Naria have possibly done to relieve any of them of the humiliating debasement that was the foundation of their lives in the cave? Ruby women, in varying stages of death, who existed for the single purpose of servicing The Boss, and whichever of his sycophants pleased him at the moment. There was no good here. Only great evil, in the living embodiment of all that was bad, The Boss.

If Naria’s God was real, Cait wasn’t sure if she should pray to him or not. 

Hours later, Cait awoke to the sound of Sarah screaming and crying as she was broken in to her new life. The Boss’s newest toy had been thrown into the cave just yesterday. The tiny blonde would die soon, Cait thought dully. She was just what The Boss liked- pretty and terrified. He would work her hard, savagely and repeatedly. Then each of his men would glut themselves, one often not waiting until the other was finished to begin his work. If she survived, she would remain in the cave until Her God came for her.

In the meantime, Cait took guilty cheer from the knowledge that the new girl would be one more place marker before it was her turn again. The Boss always took the women in order, feeding on their growing fear as each woman’s pain mercilessly approached. Magan, Nella, Rhonda with an H, Dirty Margaret who liked her job, Cait, Emily, Hilari, Teresa, Joy and Hope (who Cait thought should change their names), Jean, Della, Annette, Una, Selma, Naria/Sarah, and Ruby. It was how Cait learned to count. How many days til her next cycle? Selma. How many broken fingers this time? Rhonda. 

Cait lay where she had been thrown. If the raiders thought she was still unconscious, they would ignore her, preferring their clean, struggling target to a limp, filthy, unresisting one. The jagged splinters of hope that faltered when Cait was in the hands of The Boss, began to announce their presence again. She would figure out how to leave this hell, God or not. Cait’s mind began pulling itself together, wrestling frantically with the same problem it always did: how to get away. Far away.

 

She had been sold to a slave caravan by her own parents. The two stupid and angry wastes of humanity had capitalized on their mistake of conceiving Cait by turning her into their helpless slave. From the moment she could be useful, the back of a heavy hand had driven her emaciated little body from one demanding task to the next, until she physically couldn’t move. Then the beating would continue until her hopeless green eyes closed, and her exhausted brain gave in to the insensibility her parents so generously doled out. When her eyes opened, her joyless existence would begin all over again. 

When her cycles started, Cait’s parents sold her to a slaver. The slaver in turn had sold her to Hamfist, a brutal female gunner with frightening desires. Lexington Spade, Hamfist’s leader, had then purchased Cait. Despite being a gunner, he seemed to genuinely enjoy her company, and treated her kindly. 

They lived together in his rooms in the old Galaxy News Network building, headquarters to the gunners. He was a Gunner Commander, in the upper echelons of the organization. The two ate her terrible cooking, laughed at his stories, and she listened to him talk about their life together when she joined the gunners someday. Best of all, Lexington taught Cait how to fight. 

She learned catfighting, hand to hand fighting, dirty fighting, self- defense, offensive feints and misdirects, balance, and unpredictability. She was especially shrewd in determining her opponent’s strengths, and incorporating their inversions into her counterattack. Handling a knife, lead pipe, sledgehammer, and sword became second nature to her. She reacted quickly, and with remarkable economy of motion to every attack Lexington attempted. She was imaginative and nimble, dancing through her lessons with mesmerizing cleverness.

“You’re getting damn good at this,” he said. “But you have got to stop holding back. You have to hit me. Hard. Try to hurt me. Try to kill me. The very first thing that attacks you out there WILL kill you, unless you fight like you mean it. Sweetheart, your skills are solid. I’ve never had a student learn as quickly, or manipulate that knowledge so effortlessly. I never know what you’ll throw at me next. That’s good. Tapping me when you could have knocked me out? That’s a mistake. A big mistake. It WILL cost you your life.”

He paused for breath. “Let’s go again.”

Cait was shocked when Lex opened his full brute force on her. She lunged with her knife. He grabbed her wrist, twisting it up and away, and squeezing so tightly, the knife fell from her numb fingers. He stepped in closer to her and drove his other fist into her gut. She fell to her knees. He kicked her onto her back. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she closed her eyes against the sight of Lexington’s pistol, poised inches from her forehead. 

He pulled her up and into his arms. “Anyone but me would have killed you right then. Never panic. Never close your eyes. And fight like you mean it Cait. It’s that important.” 

 

From the shadowy corner of their bedroom, Cait sat with her knees pulled tightly against her chest, watching Lex sleep. He looked …happy. Relaxed. At peace. He was not handsome, she admitted, but he had made her smile for the first time in her life. She remembered the shy look in his eyes as he handed her her first bar of soap, then left her alone to wash. He had carefully helped comb the snarls from her deep red hair. Again, the shy smile as he admitted the color reminded him of sunsets, out west where he had originally come from. Clean clothes appeared. A box of snack cakes found its way to her favorite chair. She had never tasted anything so delicious, and timidly shared them with him.

She had started to finally feel safe.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to thrust away the memory of Lex’s cold, cruel eyes staring down at her. Cait had seen a man she didn’t know, piercing her with the eyes of a deadly stranger. Someone who would kill her and move on to kill again, without remembering or caring. Lexington was a gunner, she knew that. But she had discovered so much more in him, as he had in her. They were together. They were a team. She wasn’t alone. 

The trust and hope tentatively reaching from her faltered. His eyes had been that of an empty man who’s only thought had been to kill. Her. Hating every hot, foolish tear that bubbled up from the fresh shreds of her heart, she wept.

And vowed to never again let her guard down. Never.

Slipping back down inside herself, she was almost too dead to register when two days later, Hamfist kicked down her door and gleefully announced that Lexington had been killed by supermutants. She threw Lex’s dog tags at Cait. His death had also promoted the vicious woman to Gunner Commander. Lex’s rooms and all of his possessions passed to her. By nightfall, Cait had been sold to a slaver. By the next, the slaver was dead, and Cait belonged to The Boss. That had been two years ago.

 

Need to get out. Need to get out. Need to get out.

The worn litany repeated over and over again, an anesthetizing backdrop to the schemes and ideas percolating in Cait’s head. She was not going to wait for some God to choose her fate. Cait was getting the fuck out of this hellhole. For good.

She had already tried stealing money from the sick bastards she was forced to share her body with as they slept. It had been child’s play. She never took enough to be noticed, but the caps had added up nicely. In an ugly, hard-learned lesson, Cait tried to buy her freedom. The Boss had accepted the money, set her free, and then clubbed her in the back of the head as she had turned to leave. She had woken back in the cave, a capless prisoner once again. 

She could fight, Cait mused. But even her education with Lex wasn’t enough to counter 12 or so raiders, plus The Boss. Too many. She would need a small army. 

Wait…

A glimmer of hope sparked to life. Cait was surrounded by women who all wanted the same thing she did- escape. She herself would not be able to take on all the men alone. Maybe if the whole lot of them rebelled at the same time, they could overpower their captors! 

Some of the women had been torn from their families, some had been living on their own little farms. Dirty Margaret had been selling herself for years before being thrown in here. She might be a problem, but then again, maybe she would welcome the possibility of getting paid for her services instead of being made to give them away for free. Whatever each woman chose to do once they were free was not Cait’s concern. Getting out was.

She surveyed her future army with a critical eye. Sarah was a broken, bleeding mess. She’d die before morning. Selma still had enough gumption to fight, if Cait taught her a few things. As a matter of fact, they all did. If she could silently convince them to try.

She struggled to contain her rising hopes. She would teach the women only what they’d each need, and quickly before someone tattled. Trading information on the rebellion for their own freedom would be a powerful temptation. Plans began to coalesce in her head. 

 

For the rest of her life, Cait would look back on that fight with pride.

The plan had gone to shit almost immediately. 4 days into training, Rhonda with an H had told The Boss every detail. Her reward had not been the freedom she had dreamed of. Instead, she had been beaten almost senseless, and thrown back into the cave. She landed bonelessly, a pitiful, weeping sinner pleading with whichever God listened to traitors. 

The women scattered in terror. 

The Boss stormed into the room. “So you think you can fight me? You think you can run? You think you weak sluts can fight? You have a good life here. You fuck, you live. Easy life. Every day I kill cunts out there. You I keep here. Safe.”

He kicked Rhonda with an H’s body across the floor. She weakly whimpered and moaned. He kicked her again, hard enough to bounce her off Naria’s smear on the wall. The Boss moved to stand by her head, dispassionately watching her pathetic twitches. He set the sole of his boot on her face, pinning her head to the floor.

“You want to fight? You want to run?” He leaned on his leg, grinding the woman’s skull into the ground. Her bones began cracking as he inexorably shifted more and more of his weight.

“This is how you leave me. “ Rhonda with and H’s head exploded. 

The women screamed and scrambled to get as far from him as possible. 

But Cait had had enough. Her army may have run, but she was finished with the pain and degradation and fear The Boss dished out so flagrantly. She stayed crouched against the wall, shrewdly assessing her enemy. The women cowered and bleated like brahmin before the butcher, flinching with his every move. Cait silently watched him. 

His balance was off. He moved in confident stomps, putting all of his weight into one foot before leaning into the next step and shifting all of his weight into the other. His face was tilted, leading with his left eye. So he was impaired on his right side? 

He strode past Cait and snatched up Una by her neck in his right fist. Smiling maniacally, he pounded her face with his left. 

Left- handed. Again weak on the right. 

Cait’s eyes widened with realization. 

He had come in alone.

The Boss never saw her coming. She slammed her foot into the side of his right knee with everything she had as he lifted his left mid-step. He crumpled, screaming in pain. Kicking out again, Cait connected with the right side of his face. 

Moving faster than she would have ever guessed was possible for a badly injured man, he grabbed at her ragged shirt and yanked her to him. His face was terrifying, a mask of rage and pain. Blood and spittle sprayed Cait’s face as he screamed at her. “You fucking bitch! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!” He grasped her throat with both hands and squeezed.

But Cait didn’t panic. She heard Lex’s voice as he had taught her his last and most important lesson.

“Never panic. Never close your eyes. And fight like you mean it Cait. It’s that important.” 

A deep slice blossomed in The Boss’s leg as she yanked the bone-handled knife from his boot. Savagely she stabbed it deeply into his left eye. Jerking it free, she buried her knife to the hilt in his chest. 

As his lifeless hands released her neck, and his body slumped to the floor of the cave, she bemusedly wondered who his God was.

 

Cloaked in the blood of her former master, it was not Cait who burst from the cave, but the Angel of Death. Raiders leapt up and attacked, but she didn’t care. Cait was free.

A whirlwind of destruction, she danced a deadly ballet, ripping and killing as she went. A knife to the heart of the first unbeliever, his gun becoming her hand as she ended the abominable dreams of another. The heinous song of a third heathen cut off, her sharp kick snapping his neck. Snatching his knife, she spun and split open another’s gut. Mouth agape, the man tried fruitlessly to catch his loosed entrails, but it was too late. His offering had already been accepted on the altar of her burning revenge.

Lean, duck, feint, stab, shoot... every sermon she had learned at the feet of her God, Gunner Commander Lexington Spade, filled her with the tools by which she would live the rest of her life. A dozen souls were baptized into her church that day, her exulting spirit escorting the ravaged souls to their final rest.

Eyes still dilated with adrenalin, Cait smiled without mirth or mercy at the last raider. He stood alone, a blight in the bloody garden she had planted. And for the first time in her life, she spoke aloud.

“Ya remember the fun ya had with me, little man? Now it’s my turn. I’ll be havin the fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one nobody else possibly can.  
> She's a dreamer and an idealist,  
> Life's greatest pessimist and realist.  
> She's a contradiction sure,  
> But never a hypocrite,  
> Because in her soul this all somehow fits.  
> She wants to explore the world just to understand what she's thinking,  
> Dig into the deepest corners of her heart to understand the universe.  
> She often loses herself though,  
> And who she used to be she can never know.  
> Yet she's happy like this,  
> She's free and to no one she'll commit,  
> Except sometimes when she's all alone,  
> She just wants some place she can call home.  
> She knows every side of every story,  
> Because she has felt absolutely everything,  
> Often all at once.  
> This contradiction,  
> This ability to see in ways that no one else can,  
> Is it a curse or is it a gift?  
> Even she cannot understand how or when or why or what,  
> And sometimes she doesn't even know if it is.  
> She wants something more,  
> Even when she is sure there's nothing else out there.  
> But no, she'll never settle,  
> Especially for a love, if that even does exist.  
> She'll always hope there's something out there to bring her bliss.  
> But she doesn't expect it and convinces herself she doesn't want it.  
> This is how her spirit is infinite.  
> Oh, how I hope there's something more than this.


	15. How Do You Kill a Monster Without Becoming One?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cait discovers she's a damn good teacher.

Chapter 15

So much blood. This woman bled more than any three people Cait had ever fought, combined. It wasn’t that the new girl bled easily or anything, she just fought and fought until she couldn’t even move anymore. Cait punched her hard enough to knock her down, and she got up again. Cait belted her again, the girl got up. Slower this time, and maybe a bit more woozy, but she got back up. And so it went- the girl stood until she couldn’t stand anymore, then she’d fight on one knee, then both knees, then on her ass on the floor. What really disturbed Cait, was when the girl was sprawled on the ground, struggling to keep her eyes from rolling back up into her head, and gamely, albeit feebly, punching or kicking out at her. 

And Cait couldn’t let her keep swinging without swinging back. Sometimes she’d cold-clock the girl, just to stop her. Walking off when your opponent was lying on the floor unconscious was common for Cait. What unnerved her was the new girl continued to jerk and twitch, like she was still battling, even in her enforced sleep. 

Tommy Lonergan, the old ghoul who ran the Combat Zone fight arena, said it was a reaction to the brain damage from being hit so much.

“You take as many hits as she has, your brain’ll be a little soft and swollen. Bruised from being banged on the inside of her skull. She’s twitching Cait. Can’t help it. For such a scrawny thing, you hit like a supermutant.”

“Yer a fool, Tommy Lonergan, if you can’t see it. She’s makin her arms move. She’s kickin, not her brain sloppin around.”

“Doesn’t matter. She’s bringing in the caps.”

Cait snorted indelicately. “When I put a gog to sleep, they sleep. Like a baby. You’re a blind and stupid man, Tommy. Ya fat bastard, ya see what ya wanna see, jes like all the rest of ‘em. I told ya. She ain’t sleepin.”

Cait stood over her downed opponent. The new girl would be pretty, she thought. Her rich, brown hair was dirty and tangled now, but once it was brushed, Cait bet it would glow. Her smooth, fair skin was blemished only by a rapidly bruising welt over her right eye. Her shapely pink lips were pressed together in a firm line, heedless of a split and the swelling. She could see the girl’s eyes moving behind her lids. Brow furrowed, her wrist curled and her arm jerkily thrashed out.

Definitely still fighting.

The young Irish redhead took her cut of the prize money, ransacked her stash of chems, and settled on the floor on the far side of the arena. She leaned against the wall. The fight was over and done with. She could escape her hellish life for a few blissful moments, riding the rush of an inhaler full of Jet. 

Tommy wasn’t done yet. “You can stop calling me names anytime now, girl”, he snarled. “You’re getting pretty lippy for a girl I’m holding the contract for. Liked you better when you first came here- quiet. Real quiet. Did everything I told you to without a single word. Not the noisy headache you are now. I shoulda been mean to you like everyone else, little girl, instead of treating you like a daughter.”

He continued his tirade. “And you’re the stupid fool if ever I saw one, and I’ve seen a lot. Burying yourself in drugs. Won’t make anything go away- twitchy girl, your life, or the lunch you didn’t eat and I put in your room, by the way.”

He strode off, headed for his office. “You fight her again tonight. Could be one of these days, she’ll teach you a thing or two.”

Only if her God is stronger than mine, Cait thought. She turned back to her drugs. 

 

Four of the barbarous, hateful raiders that had watched the fight, entered the cage. One poured beer on the new girls face. She didn’t wake, just continued to swing and jerk. They laughed coarsely.

“Yeah, she won’t feel a thing,” the biggest of the men boasted. “Until she wakes up of course!” He ripped the girl’s shirt open.

“Oh isn’t that tasty boys. Rip them pants off, I’m going first.” He unbuckled his belt.

Cait halted the inhaler inches from her mouth. The Jet called to her, singing of a dream where men molesting an unconscious woman wasn’t happening right in front of her. Again.

The men would leave Cait alone. They had already learned an ugly lesson about trying that crap on her. She smiled in memory. Men were predictable, putting more focus on the imaginings of what their victory over her would get them, instead of on the fight itself. It was always the last mistake they made with her, sometimes the last mistake they ever made period. Occasionally Cait killed one on purpose. It went a long way in convincing the drunk or more stupid animals that bothering her was a bad idea. 

She focused again on the inhaler. Blessed, blessed jet. One good hit and she could ride happily into that slow, quiet realm where nothing could intrude. Nothing could touch her. She could be gone. Gone from raiders, Tommy, fighting, the girl on the floor, her pointless life. She could sit there in a nice fluffy fog, trying to catch the sparkling lights that raced up and around behind her closed eyelids. Until the hit died, and her body clamored for more almost as loudly as her head.

She was an addict. She knew it. And she didn’t care. She had nothing else to live for except the next hit anyway.

Cait had sold herself in a contract to Tommy to pay for her rising drug needs. Not a bad job, she mused. Daily fights gave her money in her pocket, three hot meals a day, and no one touched her unless she let them. 

Then raiders had taken over the Zone. 

Cruel creatures, they kept Tommy compliant with threats and beatings. They threw uglier and uglier fights at Cait. In the past year, she had fought animals, old people, and multiple combatants with all manner of weapons. The girl on the floor was their latest obsession. 

They had thrown her in with Cait to watch her be beaten to a pulp like every other piece of meat. But she had stunned them with her stubborn attitude. She always got back up, until she physically couldn’t. She never whined or pleaded. She had reacted to Cait’s very first hit with a sort of wondrous fascination. The girl studied her moves, quickly learning them, and trying time and time again to successfully block them. 

No, not block them. The girl wanted to turn them against Cait. Blocking wasn’t good enough. Fighting back wasn’t good enough. Cait saw unexpected intelligence and shrewdness in the girl’s eyes as she ran every motion and nuance of each strike through her mind. Until she was knocked out. Then her body continued to run through her lessons while her mind tried to recover. 

Cait found herself with unwilling, envious respect for new opponent. The girl reminded her of another, a girl who had turned to Jet to hide from her hell and her memories, instead of trying to learn from them. The raiders wanted to see how much the girl could take before she died. Cait found herself wanting to know how far the girl would go to keep learning. 

She stared at the Jet inhaler, then set it down. 

The girl’s clothes had been torn completely off. The raider flipped the girl over and lined his engorged shaft up for a rough run. 

Cait smirked. A man is never as vulnerable as when his mind and body are being ruled by his proud little cock.

Her roundhouse kick completely unseated the intently poised raider. His head snapped back. Teeth flew as he flipped onto his back. Cait stomped on his exposed groin. When his body involuntarily snapped forward to protect himself, her fist met him right between the eyes, and he dropped like a dead brahmin. 

Before she could recover, one of the other raiders snatched her arm, swinging her around for a smack to the face. A million times I’ve seen that, Cait mentally yawned as she ducked low and drove her shoulder into the man’s gut, then dealt two lightening punches to his unprotected crotch. She felt his hot vomit hit her back.

“Ya miserable fucker! Ya got yer mess on my clothes!” She braced her shoulder against his hips, crouched, and lifted him off balance. He lurched face-first down her back, taking most of his puke with him.

The last two raiders spread out, circling her warily. She watched them with amusement. A little more to the left…and… there ya go boys. Kiss yer arses good bye.

As soon as the raider behind her knew she couldn’t see him, he launched himself at her unprotected back. Cait dropped to the ground. As his arms closed on nothing, she thrust herself upwards, flipping him into his companion. She jumped on his back and neatly snapped his neck, then as the last man grabbed her hair, she gripped his arm, and rolled heavily backwards, her weight dragging him with her. As he was pulled over her, she kicked with both feet into his face. 

BAM! 

The gunshot snapped Cait to her feet. She crouched behind the pile of bodies, quickly scanning for the shooter.

The new girl stood over the blubbering, squalling raider who had only moments before been intent on raping her. Cait was astonished. Most wastelanders would be crying and trying to cover themselves, but she stood tall, stark naked and uncaring. She had one of Tommy’s .45’s in each hand. Lonergan himself was cowering in the doorway of his office. A spent stimpak dropped from his fingers. 

BAM! She shot the raider’s groin again, then jammed the nose of her pistol between his eyes, right where Cait’s fist had been only moments before.

“I know how to stop you,” she said coldly. She pulled the trigger. 

The girl turned, her eyes now following the pathetic progress of the vomit-covered raider, as he stumbled towards the gate. As he swung it open, he shot a look of venomous hate over his shoulder at his prey-turned-killer.

She smiled at him. 

Bloody fuckin hell, Cait had never seen a smile like that. It was dangerous, lethal and implacable, a terrifying harbinger of the joy his death would bring her. Still smiling, the girl lifted her arm, and almost lovingly, blew an ugly, gaping hole right through his face. Bits of bone and brain spattered her proud body, already adorned with the blood of her first kill. 

She turned and eyed the corpse of the third raider. Then she pointed her gun directly at Cait. 

“Down.”

A split second after Cait hit the ground, the new girl buried a bullet into the brain pan of the raider who had been stealthily rising up behind her. Her last bullet went into the temple of the raider whose neck Cait had broken. 

“What’re ya wastin’ bullets on him fer?” Cait demanded. “He’s dead already.”

The girl switched her deadly gaze to Cait. The feisty redhead startled as a frozen frisson ran down her back, making the hairs on her neck and arms rise. 

What the hell? She had beaten the hell out of this girl for 2 weeks. Just saved her sorry arse from 4 raiders intent on using her up, and she looks at me like I’m her next meal?

Not changing her expression or breaking her gaze, the girl walked purposefully toward her. Expecting to be shot like the other dogs, Cait was shocked when the girl handed her the second loaded .45. 

“I’m done here. Are you coming?”

Cait’s second shock was seeing Tommy nodding past the girl’s shoulder. Bewildered, she stared at Tommy, the girl, then the gun in her hand. 

Shots ricocheted off the bars of the cage. Raiders coming in for the next show had witnessed the drama. 

Cait was incensed. “Free show, ya fuckin bastards! Now ya shoot at me? Bad choice, ya fuckheads!”

 

“Have you lost your mind?!” Tommy shouted at the man. “Does she realize who she’ll be fighting?!”

The tired young sniper dumped a pack of clothes and a heavily modified gauss rifle onto Tommy’s desk. “She knows exactly who she’ll be fighting. It’s what she wants.”

“Wants??!!” Spittle flew from Tommy’s mouth as he raged at the man. “Are you insane? Is she insane? You know who she’ll be fighting and you still want it? Your girl is going to die out there! I’ve seen it! A million times! If I don’t tell Cait what’s going on, she’ll beat the ever-loving shit out of your girl! She won’t make it out of there alive! Cait…”

Rob MacCready, resigned to the demands of his boss, interrupted him. “You don’t understand. Christine is a fair fighter, but she’s desperate to learn more. When she heard of Cait, there was no arguing with her. The only way to learn, she said, is to work with a better fighter. Hell man, Chris can take me down in less than a minute. Don’t count her or her idiotic ideas out. And for God’s sake, don’t tell your Cait. If she holds back with Christine, it’ll be MY head. Lonergan, just do it. Throw her in your pit. She wants you to.”

Tommy shook his head. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Lonergan, if I can’t get you to do it because it’s what she wants, do it for ME. I DO NOT want to be the one who has to tell her she can’t have Cait as a teacher because her boss thinks Cait will hurt her too much. Tommy, man, I gotta live with her. Please. Do it for me.”

Rob’s pained smile went a long way to convince Tommy to agree to the distasteful agreement. 

“Well then,” Tommy growled. “Could be she learns what her strong headedness can get her in to.”

 

Dodging the bullets that didn’t spark off the thick bars of the fight pit, Christine protected her head with her arms and sprinted into Tommy’s office. She yanked the couch away from the wall and hauled her gauss rifle out from behind it. Bless Rob, she smiled, quickly assessing its condition. Clean and loaded. Not bothering to stop for clothing, she shoved past Lonergan, grabbed the .45 clips he held out to her, and bolted to the outside of the ring.

Cait’s angry yelling was cut off abruptly as the full ammo clips slid across the ring and bounced into her leg. Her astonished gaze followed their trail back to where the new girl now knelt, blowing raiders into bloody bits with a…what the hell was she holding? Where did that beast of a gun come from?! 

“Cait! Don’t shoot the guy up there on the left! He’s a friend!”

Cait dazedly dragged her eyes up to where a young man with a sniper rifle was busily picking off their attackers. Remotely she registered that the man was a hell of a shot. Her eyes slid to the girl, who was quickly and competently slipping from one row of seats to the next, firing as she went. First she’s meat, then she’s out there, all but a dancer with her gun? What was Tommy thinking? What the hell was going on?

“Cait! Get down! Get down! Get down!”

Cait just stared at the girl.

Christine cursed in frustration. There was no way she could get into the cage and knock Cait down in time. What was wrong with her? She’s just sitting there looking around? She’s not even shooting? Doesn’t she see the guy over there? He’s going to kill her!

In retrospect, Christine probably should have anticipated Rob’s fury at her, as she dashed the eight or so yards it took to shield Cait from the last raider, who was blasting a remarkable amount of ammo directly at her. Sheltered in one of the upper booths, neither Christine nor Rob could get a bullet into him. He was safeguarded by the walls of his nest. Rob maneuvered around searching for the shot.

Christine gasped as a bullet tore through her arm. Two more followed, both into her left leg. 

She sucked in her scream. Rob’s voice was low and soothing in her head, as she remembered his teachings.

Calm and steady. Focus on the target. Pain happens. It always happens. Push through it Christine. You decide if it’ll stop you or not. 

The slow cascade of blood down Christine’s leg splattered as a third bullet drilled into her leg. Choking back her shriek of pain, she gritted her teeth and re-focused. 

The raider was exulting, glorying in the blood he was drawing from his new target. She was immobilized by the damage he had done to her leg. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t get away from him. Oh he would have fun with her. That naked, bleeding body. And what a body! Tall and strong, all bruised curves and long legs. 

He would break her fingers first. And her knees. She could struggle all she wanted and nothing would help her. He loved it when they struggled. Yes, he would play with her for a good long while. A good long while. His cock began to strain against his leather pants.

He was oblivious to the cunning stealth of the sniper until a bullet ripped into his gun hand. Screeching, the bloody raider dropped his firearm and grabbed his bleeding hand. Another bullet tore into his arm. 

He spied the shooter on the catwalk above him too late. Three more bullets buried themselves in his leg. His scream came out garbled with curses as he tried fruitlessly to find a safe corner of the booth.

Rob was furious. Furious that this pig would shoot his boss, his Christine. And he was furious at Christine, that she would start soaking up bullets with her naked body, to protect the woman MacCready had had to watch beat the shit out of her for two weeks. It had killed him to sit in the shadows and just watch. Didn’t she know that? He couldn’t rescue her, or carry her beaten body to a softer resting place, or even bandage her numerous cuts and welts. All he could do was keep Lonergan supplied with stimpaks and med-ex. 

And why the hell hadn’t she grabbed some clothes along with her gun?! Jesus Christine!!

Rob snarled, remembering how he had wanted to blast the filthy animals who had manhandled Christine’s body after the fight. He found he was shaking with anger at the memory of them rudely touching her, grasping her soft breasts, her thighs, her ass…her body. Her beautiful body. He had been only a split-second away from shooting the bastards himself, when Cait had dropped her jet and leapt into the fray. Part of him hated Cait for waiting so long. The other part hated her for stealing the pleasure Rob would have felt, had he been the one to paste their brains on the wall himself. 

Rob consoled himself with the satisfying knowledge that most of the dead raiders littering the Combat Zone, he had killed for her, for Christine.

He sighted on the ragged scar crossing his last target’s forehead, and pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a hell of a lot of fun writing this. Keep reading! And let me know what you think. I can't get better without your feedback.


	16. And suddenly you know...It's time to start something new and trust the magic of beginnings. -unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cait begins her journey, rough or not.

Chapter 16  
Dawn was just pinking the sky as the three edged out into the courtyard in front of the Combat Zone. Cait breathed deeply. It had been too long since she had been outside. At first, Tommy wouldn’t let her leave, certain she’d welsh on her contract with him and disappear. Later, as her place in the Zone became more concrete, she never really wanted to. 

Gunners, Raiders, Supermutants- she had had enough of them when she had first crept from The Boss’ cave years ago. All she had known then was that she had desperately wanted to get out of that sick hellhole. That accomplished, no thanks to Selma and the rest of the stupid bitches that had run screaming at the first sign of trouble, she had faced a similar dawn with a sort of liberating trepidation. She was finally in charge of her own destiny. Nobody owned her. Nobody would force her to do anything like what she had just lived through ever again. Her nightmare was over, but now what?

After a few stops to take care of some personal business, her meandering journey had led her to the Combat Zone, Tommy Lonergan, and a decent life. She made more than enough money to pay for her Jet and Psycho. She had food and a warm, safe place to sleep at night. And all she had to do was fight. 

Now, damned if she wasn’t back was out in the Commonwealth, where those same Gunners, Raiders, and Supermutants still reveled in slaughtering everyone unlucky enough to cross their paths. There was no getting away from the mean bastards. But the damned new girl was holding her contract and Tommy had told Cait in no uncertain terms to get out. What the devil was she supposed to do out here? Damn Tommy! And damn the new girl! May hell take the both of ‘em!

Cait closed her eyes for a moment to try to calm the anger and confusion roiling in her mind like a radstorm. 

When she opened them again, the new girl and her sniper friend had started scooting off toward the very enemies she would have been happy to live safely away from forever. Angrily she scuttled after them. 

“What the hell was that all about?! What happened back there? And why do ye have me contract?” Cait demanded.

“I keep asking myself the same thing,” Rob muttered under his breath. “We were doing just fine.”

Christine finished folding Cait’s contract and slipped it into her bra. “Rob, did you get all of that third bullet out of my leg? It still hurts. Look! It’s still bleeding! Stupid thing.”

Cait poked her in the back. “Don’t ye be ignorin me! Who are ye? I want answers!”

Rob looked at Christine in disgust. “You think this is the first time I’ve pulled bullets out of you? Yes! Of course I did. If you’re going to whine about it, shoot another stimpak.”

Christine stuck her tongue out at him.

Cait looked back and forth between the new girl and “Rob”. With a scowl, she reached out to Christine, a stimpak in her hand. 

“Ye got that on accounta me. Might as well take mine. Now why did-”

“No.” Rob shoved her hand away. He knelt down between them with his back to Cait. “She doesn’t need anything from you. I got her just fine.” He pulled Christine into a sitting position, and carefully inspected the bullet holes. One was indeed still bleeding. 

Christine hissed as he prodded the tender flesh.

Damn it. A broken bit of metal was still in there. Rob felt awful. He felt around his pouches for his medkit. “I’m sorry Chris. I missed a piece. This is going to hurt.”

Christine braced herself. “Just do what you have to do.”

Digging an old pair of tweezers out of his kit, Rob mentally berated himself for the curse. His son Duncan was miles away, but a cuss is a cuss, and a promise is a promise. No more cussing. Out loud, or in his head, or anywhere. At all. Ever. 

He poured a splash of vodka on the tweezers to sterilize them, and after an apologetic look at Christine, dug in. 

Christine yelped and grabbed Cait’s arm, squeezing tight.

Cait snatched her arm away. “What the hell are ye doin, grabbin me arm! “ She belted Christine in the jaw.

Rob was shocked. “What the heck?! Why’d you just-“

Christine lunged across him, firing a jab to Cait’s unprotected gut. Cait doubled over. She grabbed Christine’s hair.

Christine gripped Cait’s hand, pulled her closer, and swung her leg around, this time knocking Cait’s feet out from under her. The two tussled on the broken paving, rolling and pounding each other.

“YOU DUMB COW! OOOCH!.. I WASN’T TRYING TO HURT YOU! AAAK!”

“WELL YOU DID! OOOF!...WHAT’S …A…UMPF!.. COW? LET GO!!!”

“IT’S...UUUMPF! A FEMALE..UMF! GET OFF! …BRAHMIN…WITH OWWW!...ONLY ONE…UNG!HEAD!”

Rob hopped around, trying to pull the girls apart. “HEY! STOP IT! CAIT LEAVE HER ALONE! CHRIS STOP! OOOWOOOOF!!!” A foot planted itself in the center of his chest and launched him onto his back.

Angrily, he dusted himself off and plunged back into the fray. This time he managed to grab Christine around the ribcage. He gave a mighty yank, and swung her around, away from Cait. Cait leapt after her quarry.

And found herself nose-to-nose with the barrel of Rob’s 10mm. She froze.

“You. Are. Done. Hurting. Christine.” He ground out. He motioned with the gun. “Sit. “

Breathing hard, Cait slowly lowered herself until she felt her butt touching the street.

Rob holstered his gun and loosened his hold on Christine. “You ok?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

“Good. Sit. If you want me to get that bit out of your leg, you’re going to have to hold still. I can’t get it and chase you around the street at the same time.”

Christine limped over and sat next to Cait. Rob retrieved his kit and set to work. The three sat in silence, punctuated only by Christine’s occasional gasps of pain.

 

“That was a nice hit.”

It was spoken so quietly, Christine almost didn’t hear. She grinned. “Which one?”

“The only good one ye did, ye great idiot! The rest were shyte!”

“Ladies!” Rob glared at them. The girls settled down.

“Um, seriously Cait. I thought my first hit reacting to you hitting me in the jaw was pretty solid-“

“Bah. Yer balance was off. Ye committed completely, and ended up fightin the rest of the fight with yer belly in the dirt. Keep yer feet under ye. Gives ye a steady base and more power.”

“But my leg was too injured to hold me. I got you down in the dirt with me to negate that.”

“Negate?”

“From the word Negative. To cancel out.”

“Oh. “ She considered that. “That was good choosin.”

They sat quietly, watching Rob gently probe the wound.

Christine smiled. “It was catching you under the chin as Rob pulled me away, right?”

Now it was Cait’s turn to smile. “Yep. That was the good one.”

 

Christine breathed a sigh of relief as Rob flicked the tiny metal shard off his tweezers and tucked his medkit away. 

She regarded Cait steadily. “To answer your earlier question, I needed someone to teach me more about hand-to-hand combat. A teacher. A good one.” 

Seeing the hurt look on Macready’s face, she backpedaled quickly. “Rob here is an excellent teacher, but I was beating him too often. And too easily.”

Rob’s injured look was replaced with incredulity. “Like hell you were. Remember that time I flipped you into the brahmin trough?”

Christine chuckled. “Okay, that was a good one.”

She tightened the bandages on her arm and leg, and jabbed in another stimpak. “But seriously, that was like one in ten-“

“One in five’s more like it.”

“I’ll give you one in eight. No more. You may shine on some slick moves pal, but if you count me vs. you, no matter what, I’ve won more. Like almost always. If I want to be better, I need a better teacher.” She turned to Cait. “The only one I could find who was better than Rob was you. Did you hear yourself a minute ago telling me about balance and fighting on my belly? That’s what I need. Raiders and Gunners, or Supermutants?”

Cait was bewildered. “I…What?” 

Rob didn’t wait for her to answer. “Raiders, Gunners, AND Supermutants.” He threw Cait a superior look and ducked out into downtown Boston.

“Good choice.” Christine tested the sturdiness of her injured leg as Rob darted out of sight.

“What the hell is he doin’? What the hell are ye doin’? NOW WHAT IN THE DEVILS FLAMIN HELL IS GOING ON?!” 

Christine patted Cait’s shoulder with a grin. “Keep up and don’t get killed,” she said as she disappeared into the shadows after MacCready.

The fiery redhead watched her new boss disappear in bewilderment. Was she supposed to go out into the middle of that mess with them? She looked back at the Combat Zone. 

A new life. Or back to the old one.

“Keep up an don’t get killed,” she muttered as she pulled out her pipe pistol and scrambled after Rob and Christine. 

 

A second after Cait dodged behind a twisted chunk of car, Rob popped up at her elbow. “What took you so long?”

Cait stifled a shriek. “Ya mad bastard I almost shot yer sorry arse! Don’t be doin that again!”

“Trust me, I’d be happy to shoot you back.” Rob darted off.

Cait was hot on his heels. “And I’d shoot ye again!” She turned and scuttled toward a broken mailbox.

Shots spattered the ground in front of her. Cait lunged back behind a broken chunk of street.

“Come on out, little girl,” a raider taunted. “I’ll make it nice and quick. You can trus…”

BAM!

Rob ducked back around the corner as the now-headless raider’s corpse slid to the ground. He sprinted to where Cait was crouched wide-eyed behind some debris. Yanking her arm, he hauled her into the alley between two ruined buildings. 

“What the heck is the matter with you?! Look before you move around! That guy was standing RIGHT THERE! You’re lucky I saw him!” He shook his head at her in disgust. “Christine sure knows how to pick’em.” He darted off.

Cait dashed right after him. “Are ye serious? I haven’t been out here fer a long piece, ye stupid sack o’ piss! What am I supposed ta do?”

“I really don’t care. Parade naked up and down this street if you want to.”

Across the street, the crumbling wall of what had once been a proud skyscraper harbored a deep shadow that called to Rob’s sniper’s heart like a song. He checked the street, then sprinted into its beckoning depths.

Cait watched him vanish from sight with growing alarm. She couldn’t see her addled boss anywhere, and if she couldn’t catch up with that brat of a sniper, she’d be stranded in this hell alone. She charged into the shadows where the jerk had just disappeared. Gunfire and jeering from the hidden raiders followed her hasty sprint.

She crashed into Rob in the darkness, slamming them both into the broken cement wall behind him with the velocity of a raging radstag.

“What the hell?!!” Rob pushed her off and rubbed the back of his smarting head. “Why did-“

Cait prodded her tender cheek. “Ye stupid fecker, how was I ta know-“

“Now I’m cussing again, you stupid pest! You banged my head-“

“Shut up! Ye fuckin bast-“

A rock sailed over their heads and hit the wall behind them, scaring Cait shitless. Rob ducked, and scanned for whoever had thrown it.

“It’s okay. It was Christine. See her up there on that building?” He pointed. "See? Stop being stupid."

Sure enough, she was perched on a pile of junk, half-hidden by a sheet of rusted metal that Cait guessed must have been part of a wall. Christine raised her hands in a “What the hell?” gesture. She shook her head. 

Rob put on his innocent face and pointed to Cait.

Cait saw what he was doing and shoved him. She pointed back at him.

Slapping away her hand, Rob pointed vehemently at her with both hands.

She slapped his accusatory fingers and extended both hands, her middle fingers pointed directly between his eyes. 

Quick as a wink, he slapped her face. He settled back smugly. That’ll shut her up.

Her outraged eyes were the last thing he registered before his head was banged smartly into the wall behind him again.

“Son of a-!” He reached for her neck.

Cait was sick to death of this little bastard. She grabbed his face with both hands and dug her thumbs into his eye sockets.

Gunfire liberally pocked the crumbling wall directly above their heads. Cait and Rob fled their hiding place, bullets following their mad dash into the depths of a ruined building. The hail of bullets continued, showering the two with chips of brick. 

“KNOCK IT OFF YOU IDIOTS!!!!!” Christine roared from across the street. New gunfire erupted from further away. Rob peeked out to see Christine’s vantage point being viciously flooded with shot. A grenade exploded right where she had been perched. Wide-eyed, he frantically scanned the area for any sign of her.

“I don’t see her! I don’t see her! Look what you did, you-“

“ME?! Ye pissy little shyte! Ye were the one-“

“Shutupshutupshutup!” Rob hissed. “Help me look for her!”

Cait crouched below his chest so she could see out into the rubble-strewn street. They ransacked the surrounding area with their eyes, desperately searching for some sign of Christine.

“Are you two done?”

Rob almost bit through his tongue as Cait’s head slammed up under his chin. They whirled around to see Christine leaning against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest. 

“Here’s tomorrow’s headline- ‘Three- Year- Olds Shot By Their Mother After Making Enough Noise To Let Every Fricking Raider, Gunner, And Mutant In The Commonwealth Know Exactly Where They’re Hiding.’” She shook her head disgustedly. “Make better choices, kiddies.”

Rob’s jaw dropped. “That was you shooting at us?!” 

She shrugged. “Seemed to be pretty effective in shutting you two up. You get the point or do I need to shoot at you again?”

“But you gave away your position!”

“Rob, I would rather have every unwashed heathen in the Commonwealth shooting at me, than have them use you two noisy clowns for target practice. Don’t make me do it again. Maybe next time I won’t get out before they start shooting. Did you see? They threw a grenade! Woohoo!”

Giving them a cheerful smile, she waved and ghosted off.

Cait couldn’t believe it. They were running through one of the most dangerous parts of town, being shot at, and Christine was waving like a happy little kid?! And she’d just had 4 bullets dug outa her!

Wait a minute. Christine had said she’d rather be shot at than “you two”. The brat and...her? And she had thrown herself in from of me at the Combat Zone, taking four bullets…for…me? Why the hell would she do that? She doesna even know me! People just don’t do that!

What the hell had Cait gotten herself into now?

Rob poked her in the arm. “This is the part where we spread out and get out of her way. She’s going to open up on these guys,” he grinned. “Go that way.” He gestured with his gun and disappeared.

“Like hell I will!” Cait yelled. Bullets blasted in her direction. Terrifyingly, it was followed by a grenade. The raiders began taunting her again.

“I’ve got you now, little girl!”

She watched the grenade arcing high through the air towards her with a certain amount of remoteness. Out of the Zone only a few minutes and she was already dead, she slowly thought.

The grenade exploded mid-air as Rob plowed into her, knocking her flat. He yelped as burning fragments pinged off his back.

Cait struggled to get out from underneath him. “Get off me, ye feckin arse!”

Rob rolled off, then hissed as the singed areas of his back touched the ground. “You’re not making this easy you know. Get your head out of your butt and watch what you’re doing. Good thing Chris hit the grenade or you’d be a big fat red-haired smear on about eleven buildings. Nice shot, by the way.”

Cait’s heart almost stopped as Christine appeared out of nowhere beside her. “Thanks. My favorite sniper taught me.” She patted Cait on the leg. “Don’t listen to him, you’re doing fine. Let’s go”.

And just like that, both MacCready and Christine scooted off. And in opposite directions.

Cait felt like she was going to cry. She glanced longingly behind her, but didn’t even know what direction the Combat Zone was in anymore. With a heavy sigh, she scuttled after the pesky sniper.

Rob looked at her with surprise as she dove into the alley he had chosen for a vantage point. 

“What the hell are you doing here? Why didn’t you follow Chris?”

“Don’t sound so happy ye jerk. I can’t see her anywhere. And I don’t want ta be by ye either.”

“Then go away.”

“Stop bitching at me or I’ll blast ye!”

“You mean you can shoot? So far your gun’s only been a decoration. How was I supposed to know? Now I’m scared to death of you. Terrified.”

Cait was furious. “Ye stupid fecker! If I didn’t need yer help getting outa the hell you two dragged me inta, I’d shoot yer sorry arse right now!”

“Bah. You couldn’t if you tried.”

“Can too.”

“Can not.”

“Can too.”

“Can not.”

“Can too.”

A rock flew past them and into the street. “Are you two kidding me?!!” Christine sputtered from the other end of the alley. “Keep moving!” 

She slipped into the shadows. Rob and Cait glared at each other, then followed, a breath behind her.

She motioned for the two of them to skirt around to the right. Rob shook his head. He gestured that he’d go where she had directed. Jabbing his finger at Cait, he then pointed straight at the raider’s nest Christine had picked as their target.

Cait smacked him on the back of the head as Christine swatted his hand. 

He yanked it back and ducked away from Cait’s hand. 

What? he mouthed.

Christine rolled her eyes, and repeated her previous gesture. She threw a scowl over her shoulder as she dashed away again.

“Fine,” he groused. He yanked Cait’s arm and ducked out in the direction they were supposed to go.

A second after they had reached the newspaper machine that had been their goal, a shrill whistle split the air.

“Head down, Buttercup.” MacCready shoved Cait’s face into the rubble.

BAM! A turret exploded. Raiders started yelling and firing.

He settled back comfortably, closed his eyes, and started narrating. “Our insane leader starts her daily bloodbath by shooting a turret. She will later say it was to keep it from firing on us. What she is really doing is bringing the raiders out from hiding. They make noise and blast away with their guns, even though they have no idea where her shot came from. She is now delighted because their noise has given away their positions. I’m guessing six.”

Cait spit out some rubble. “Do that again and I’ll feckin kill ye. Buttercup. Whatever that is. Keep yer hands off me. Six what?”

BAM! BAM!.....BAM!..BAMBAMBAM!....BAM!

“Ahh. Seven.” He opened his eyes. “What do you hear?”

Cait listened intently. “Nothin.”

“Good girl.” Rob patted her on the head.

Cait snarled.

Suddenly Christine appeared out of nowhere and plopped down between the two, oblivious to Cait’s glower and Rob’s smug grin.

“WOOHOO!!! Did you peek? What’s your guess?”

Rob shot a cocky grin at Cait then turned to Christine. “Seven.”

“Nope. Six and a turret I could barely see, way down by the gunners. Eight total, counting the turret I took out first so it wouldn’t shoot you guys.” She smiled with satisfaction. 

Rob turned to Cait. “Told ya.”

But Cait had had enough. She pointed her gun right between Christine’s eyes. “Stop. Jes stop. What are ye doin? And why are ye draggin me with ye? Why are we shootin our way down one a’ the most dangerous streets in the damned Commonwealth? Didn’t ye have enough fun at the Combat Zone? What’s wrong with ye?”

“What kind of gun do you have?”

“What?”

Christine held out her palm. “I said, what kind of gun do you have?”

“SHE…SAID…WHAT…KIND…OF…GUN…DO…YOU…HAVE!” Rob yelled, slowly and distinctly.

“I HEARD ‘ER, YE DAFT BASTARD! AND IT’S POINTED RIGHT IN HER FACE SO I WASNA SURE WHAT SHE WANTED!”

“Stop yelling, you idiots. Is that all you have Cait?” 

“Of course it tis. Think I’d be shootin this if I had a laser rifle hidden up me arse?”

Rob choked.

Christine pounded him on the back and turned back to Cait. “My friend, you need a better gun. Never going to make it home with that piddly little thing. Let’s go.”

And she dashed off, MacCready right behind her.

A madwoman holds my contract, Cait thought grimly, hurrying after them.

 

The bobby pin snapped. “Oh for crying out loud Chris! This is not what I’m good at. YOU pick the damn lock!”

“You’ll never get any better if you don’t practice. Stop whining.” She handed Rob another bobby pin.

Pick. Pick. Pick. “Are you watching out? If I get shot I’m going to kill you.”

Snap.

“AARRRRRGGHHH!”

“Shush. You know I am.” She handed over another. “And I’d be willing to bet you’ll be picking locks under pressure like 99% of the time. You can do it.”

Snap.

“GRFLMRFLMBPGFRG!!!” Rob clamped his own hand over his mouth to muffle the noise of his almost-cussing.

Cait gave him a shove. “Move over, ya worthless bug. It’s not that hard.”

She took the screwdriver, and a new pin from Chris, and set to work. Pick. Click.

“Love that click,” she said, throwing a smug look at Rob. “That was easy.”

He glared and socked her in the shoulder.

Incensed, Cait socked him back.

He socked her back harder.

She outright belted him in the arm. He yelped.

Christine glared at the two of them. “Will you two stop acting like a couple of kindergarteners?” Stealthily, she opened the door. 

“What’s a kindergartener?”

“A 5 year old barely in school”, Christine hissed. “Now shush for a second.”

The setting sun cast its weak light on the ragged, faded chairs in the foyer of the Boylston Club as the door inched open.

They stood frozen, listening intently.

“I don’t hear anythin,” Cait whispered.

Rob patted her on the head again.

Cait punched him squarely in the chest. The breath whooshed out of his lungs and he found himself sitting on the ground. 

Gritting her teeth, Christine grabbed him by the front of his coat and dragged him inside, shoving a smirking Cait in front of her. She shut the door.

“Will you two just stop it? What the hell is wrong with you!” Striding away, she entered the elevator and hit the button.

“Up,” a disembodied voice intoned, shutting the doors on the surprised faces of Cait and Rob.

 

Well-dressed skeletons adorned the dusty seats and floor of the club. Christine had felt sadness the first time she’d seen them, but after reading multiple entries on the terminal behind the bar, her sorrow had quickly turned to rage. These bastards had been largely responsible for engineering the whole goddamn war. It was because of them that she had woken up to a blasted, barren wasteland, peopled with crazed savages and deadly mutated creatures. Because of them that her school was gone, and family and friends were dead. Because of them, hundreds of people fought every day for their lives, and tried to survive on canned crap and radiated water. The bastards had then toasted to their success with poisoned wine and died peacefully, uncaring of the terror and pain and desperation their actions had caused. She felt no pity for them now. Only deep anger. 

She was standing behind the bar when Rob and Cait exited the elevator, keeping as far away from each other as possible.

Christine poured three shots of Bobrov’s Best and shoved them at her companions. “So can you two sort your differences, or do you need help?”

She waited expectantly.

“There’s no problem,” Rob said sullenly. He kicked a skeleton to the floor and slouched into the chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

Cait wandered the room. “Nope. No problems here.”

Christine waited. Moments ticked by.

“Stop starin at me! I got no problem. It’s that stupid bastard over there that’s full up on problems!”

Livid, Rob leaped up from his seat. “Me?! I’m just fine! You’re an idiot! I just had to trot up Main Street with a clumsy, clueless, yammering, red-haired moron behind me, making all kinds of noise and trying to get us killed is all! HEY!!” A skull sailed past, barely missing his head.

Cait pegged another at him. “Well you keep yanking on me and yelling at me and shoving my face in the dirt and patting me on the head…!”

“That’s because you’re too stupid to keep your head down!”

“I am not! You’re the stupid pissbucket who...”

“Stupid pissbucket?! You fucking bitch! You stupid fucking bitch! I had to watch you beat the shit out of Christine for two weeks! Two damn weeks! And I couldn’t do anything about it! You just kept hurting her and hurting her!”

He was nose to nose with Cait now, yelling, and gesticulating wildly. “And then I have to babysit you and keep your stupid ass safe and bring you home? Our home! The woman who happily, repeatedly kicked Christine’s ass for two fucking weeks!!! And now I’m cussing again, and that’s your fault too!”

“Well I didn’t know what was goin on! I still don’t! Some girl it’s MY JOB ta beat up, an fights in her sleep, wakes up and starts killing things like a damn gunner! Then Tommy gives her his guns, and where the fuck did that thing she’s carryin come from anyway? And you show up out of the dark like a spook, an you an her blow the place up, he gives her me contract, and the two of ye drag me inta downtowngoddamnwarzone and I almost get killed!”

She spun to face Christine. “WHAT THE HELL IS GOIN ON?!!!” 

 

“Don’t touch that.”

Cait drew her hand back from the wine bottle she had been reaching for. “What’s wrong with it?”

Rob reached over the bar and flipped on the light from Christine’s pip-boy. 

“It’s poisoned. Like dead poisoned”, he stated. “Last time we were here, we grabbed a few bottles and took them to Dr. Sun in Diamond City. He’s a pretty good guy. We bring him stuff all the time. So he checked them out, and asked if he could buy them from us. Called it ‘Mercy Wine’. He said he would like to have it for people who were in bad pain and couldn’t be cured, so they could end it quick.”

Christine met his eyes sadly. “We only sell a bottle or two at a time. I don’t want people to think it’s an easy way out of a hard life.”

Cait snorted. “But it IS a hard life. Feckin miserable most of the time. Not many can do with that. And if they want out, go to it I say. Rather have them takin themselves out than goin crazy and takin us with ‘em”. 

“I agree.” Rob extended another bottle toward her. “Drink up.”

Cait glared at him.

Christine considered for a moment. “You have a point Cait. But wouldn’t you rather help people have a better life than let them give up?”

“Yer kiddin, right?”

“Don’t bother Cait. She’s serious.” Rob had moved behind the bar and was carefully removing a small wall panel. Reaching into the darkness behind it, he started hauling out supplies: food, water, flip lighter, medical supplies, blankets, ammo, and finally two guns. He held them both out to her.

“Choose.” He gestured behind himself with his head. “These little pockets of supplies we call ‘bolt holes’. We have what, fifteen or so of them all over the Commonwealth, Chris?”

“Thirteen.”

“Yeah, well we have these hidden stashes to go to in an emergency. A safe place to hide and get resupplied. But you better come back quick and replace everything you took. Never know when the next person will come along needing help. All this stuff has to be here for them.”

Cait looked from Rob to Christine and back again. “I don’t understand. Why don’t ye jus sell it all? Let people take care of themselves. There’s good caps to be made here.”

“I used to feel the same way. Then I started travelling with Chris. She takes care of people. Everything she said about helping people have a better life, she means it. And she does it.” He caught himself. “WE do it.”

Smiling warmly, Christine hugged him tight. She kissed him on the cheek. “Told you you’re a better man than you give yourself credit for.” Rob blushed.

She disengaged herself and plopped down on the couch. Squinching her eyes shut, Christine tried not to hear the ever-present voice of her old friend Elliott admonishing her for her unladylike behavior. 

Oh Elliott, if you only knew.

“So,” she began, drowning out Elliott’s voice. “I do owe you an explanation. A couple, I guess.”

Rob gave her a peck on the cheek. “Start at the beginning sweetheart.”

Christine smiled. “Yes dear.”

Cait eyed the two. They’ve spent a lot of time together to be so close, she realized. They care about each other. And trust each other. 

She wondered what it would be like to have a friend like that. One who cared and didn’t stab you in the back or use you for their own ends. Or use you, period.

She returned her focus to Christine.

“… so despite all of Rob’s protests, I decided to find out if the provisioner was right or just repeating gossip. No one could be that good, I thought. And if this ‘Cait’ was, she’d be the perfect person to learn from. I admit it. I take a lot of beatings wandering around the Commonwealth. I figured if I was going to get hit, it might as well be useful. So Rob here got Tommy to agree to it, and promise not to tell you so you wouldn’t go easy on me. My clothes and gun were just stashed in Tommy’s office behind the couch.”

“Queen of the Stimpaks.” Rob stared at his feet. “I wish you’d just stay home and let me keep you safe.”

Christine smiled at her friend. “That, my dear friend, will never happen and you know it. I couldn’t live with myself, knowing I could have done something to help other people in the Commonwealth be safe, but didn’t because I might get hurt.”

She turned back to Cait. “So I let you beat on me. You may not realize it, but you taught me how to hit. Where to hit, how hard to hit, where you kept your balance, how to combine moves, all kinds of stuff. If I wanted to know what to do if someone kicked at me, I kicked at you and watched how you responded. If I wanted to know how to block a left jab, I threw one at you and watched what you did. And as many times as I could too, to see all the different ways you would do it. You fight like a dancer, did you know that? Light footed. You kind of zip and glide around. I doubt I could ever be that graceful, but I do want to learn everything you can teach me. Getting your contract was a side bet I made with Tommy.”

“WHAT?!” Cait was shocked. “WHAT DID THAT OLD BASTARD BET ON?!”

Christine grinned. “That I could get you on your back. Remember that time I pulled you over me and kicked you in the face and you landed on your back?”

“That was one of me own moves, and ye used it against me.”

“Yep. One of my favorites too. And it won me you.”

She downed her shot and began reloading from the stash of ammo. “But now kids, we need to get home. I have some vague memories from movies that I think you can help me figure out how to do. Moves, I mean.”

Rob groaned.

“And we need to get you a better gun. Either of the two Rob has there will work for today. We’ll work on a better one once we’re home.”

Cait watched her new owner load up. 

Maybe not such a madwoman after all, she thought, as she chose the shotgun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cait is one of my very favorite characters. Developing her and exploring her mind is proving to be quite a trip. Looking forward to your feedback.


	17. I Don't Want You To Save Me. I Want You To Stand Beside Me As I Save Myself

Chapter 17

“See that down there? That’s the whole reason we’re here. We’re going to take it back.”

“Please tell me you’re kidding. Please.”

Christine was all but vibrating with excitement. She pulled back from the edge of the roof overlooking her objective, tugging Rob with her. “Preston heard about this place from the settlers who survived the attack by those raiders right down there. They call it ‘Hangman’s Alley’. If we can clear out the raiders and set up some defenses, they want to come back. A safe place like this gives other people hope, and they’ll come too. Before long, it’ll be a real settlement, with enough resources for the people to support and defend themselves. Another win for the Commonwealth, and another win for the Minutemen!” Her eyes shone.

Rob refused to be pulled in by her enthusiasm. “Christine, seriously? You seriously think the two of us-“

“Three,” Cait interrupted indignantly.

“Yeah, sure…three.” He shook his head. “You think the three of us are just going to bust in there, magically kill all of those raiders, and set up a safe settlement? Look at it- It’s a fortified position. Barricades at both ends, probably locked. And where are the turrets coming from? The supplies for a water pump and food? How will Preston and the settlers even know when it’s safe to come back? And Christine, this is the important part here so pay attention, how the heck are we going to wipe out 16 freakin raiders?!”

“Don’t be melodramatic. There’s only 15. Can’t you count?”

“Chris…”

“Preston’s had provisioners stashing supplies around here since before we left for the Combat Zone. We just have to find them.”

“Chris…”

“He’s trusting us with this, Rob. General Christopher and Major MacCready are not going to let him or those people down. ” 

“Chris…”

“Besides, I have an idea.” A smile slowly curled her lips.

Oh no. Rob knew that smile. “Chris…”

“All we need is bigger ammo. The supermutants in that apartment building back there should have exactly what I need.” 

“SUPERMUTANTS??!!!!!! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND??!!!!!”

“Shhhh! They’ll hear us!” Cait inched back, away from the edge of the roof. 

Rob clamped his hand over his mouth and ran for the far end of the roof, struggling to get control of himself. Sweating with the effort, he glared out across the river. God he loved her, but his life had been so much simpler before he met Christine. Comic books, beer, and taking jobs as a hired gun. That’s all. Nice and easy. When she walked into the Third Rail in Goodneighbor looking to hire him, he should have hidden under the dang table, or run. And not up buildings and over every roof in the darn Commonwealth.

What was it with Christine and roofs anyway? They’d had a heck of a time getting this far. It was a miracle all three of them were still alive. Jump off this fire escape onto that balcony into a gunfight. Run through this crumbling store, through the window, time for a grenade. Up onto that roof, over those broken walls, Oh look- raiders. Up yet another fire escape or slippery pile of broken glass, let’s hit those gunners.

And she never slowed down. For Pete’s sake (Whoever Pete was. Christine never did tell him…) they almost lost Cait over the edge of an apartment building less than an hour ago! Remember that Chris? And now she deliberately wants to steal ammo from supermutants?

Wait. Where the heck did she go?

\--------------------

“Keep moving! Keep moving! No no! This way! ROB! ROB GRAB HER!”

Cait teetered on the edge of the apartment roof, her booted toes unable to find purchase on the broken slate. She flailed her arms, shrieking in panic, but her body was leaning tooooo far forward to be able to reverse her momentum. 

She was going to fall. 

Cait snatched behind herself desperately, just tipping Rob’s fingers as he reached for her. But it was too late. Helplessly tilted into gravity’s embrace, she watched the sidewalk come slowly and inexorably up to kiss her. Cait closed her eyes. 

So this is how I’m going to die, she thought numbly. 

Not from the grenade on “the main drag downtown” as Christine called it. Christine had shot that mid-air as Rob smashed Cait flat to the ground, trying to protect her from the burning shrapnel. 

Why the devil had he done that? It isn’t like she asked for help or anything. And he went and got himself hurt doing it. Stupid man.

Then her two demented saviors had cleared a path toward the waterfront, guns blazing like Hell had come for every raider, gunner, and mutant in their path. If it moved, it died. Cait had followed in their wake, stunned by the controlled violence of their focused, unwavering charge. 

But she did not die.

She had also not died in the startling attack from the supermutants in the overhead walkway on the Esplanade. 

Rob could reload his rifle faster than anyone Cait had ever seen. He had started by picking off the two huge, green, mutated hounds howling and tearing hell-bent toward their fallback. Christine had yanked Cait behind herself, behind the crumbling façade of what may once have been a coffee shop, as Rob snapped off two more shots and decisively ended the violent threats of two angry supermutants. 

Why had Christine done that? Why were they protecting her? She was no one. 

Four more shots, four more dying shouts. Christine had then dropped to her knee below Rob and taken up where he left off, as he spun back behind the wall to reload again. 

And she did not die.

Cait had not died from the raiders firing a missile from their hideout on the roof either. Christine had slammed her up against the wall, using her own body as a barrier between her and the burning fragments, and covered Cait’s head with her arms, leaving her own unprotected. Shots viciously slammed down around them from above. Pushing Cait in front of her, Christine ran back behind the supports of the raised walkway. 

Why had she done that? What was wrong with these people? Worse, what did they want from her? No one did this for free. 

Rob followed right behind her. He was breathing heavily.

“Ideas?”

Panting, Christine shook her head. “Give me a minute.” 

They stared at each other, brains fumbling furiously for a plan. The raiders were up too high to get a good angle with their guns. Too high to throw a grenade with any accuracy too. They also had a clear view of the Esplanade. There would be no sneaking past. 

Christine rubbed her forehead. Damn it, they’d have to go back around the way they’d come, and get around those supermutants in the broken apartment building. Damn, damn, damn.

“Welllllll, they had to get their bloody arses up there somehow, right? Maybe we should look for that.”

Rob and Christine stared at Cait. 

A pleased smile played across Christine’s face. “Yes ma’am, you are right! Of course they did! Thank you Cait! Let’s go find it. I really feel like ruining their day.”

Finally! Cait was vindicated. She could be useful, not just a bag of junk to be dragged around, or a child that had to be protected.

She stared at the gun in her hand that she still had not fired. Well, extra points to her for not shooting that pest Rob at least. Now she would show them what she could really do. She was smart, and a pretty good shot. She could be part of this team. She could ‘pay her way’. She wouldn’t owe anybody anything. 

“Right.” Rob frowned. “Any idea where to start, Miss Smarty Farty Poopy Pants?”

Okay, so maybe she’d still shoot the little bastard in the head when Christine wasn’t looking.

Christine saw the gloating look on Robs face, and the seething on Cait’s and closed her eyes. She didn’t like where this was going. Again.

Happy place. Find your happy place, Christine. Dog curled up on your legs while you read one of your very few, prized books. Cato spinning around and crashing into the wall when you bestowed the name of the ninja master on him. Remembering the words to a song. Playing Frisbee on the wide green lawns of MIT. Mom baking a birthday cake. Bubbles. Butterflies.

No. 

No. 

This is not helping. 

Those were memories that needed to be gone. Part of her old life, the one that didn’t matter anymore. 

She swallowed hard and tried to steel herself, but the memories kept peering at her, like a bright light behind a closed door, determinedly seeping out around the edges.

She was not going to get away this time. They were going to force her to remember.

Struggling to hold the pain at bay, she surrendered permission to the wisps and veils of her past, allowing them to gently brush her heart as they swirled around.

Her mom’s smile, framed by the bright red lipstick she always wore, even at the beach. “Happy Birthday honey! Make a wish and blow out the candles.”

Her brother swiping frosting onto her cheek, and running off laughing like a lunatic. “I got you I got you!” Then he slipped on the rug and crashed into the wall. That had been priceless.

Dad taking her to his demolition site after she opened her presents, so she could see her special namesake explosives in action. 

“That’s you honey. My little C4.” 

He hugged her. “So quiet now. But I see those gears turning in your mind all the time. You’ll tell me what you’re thinking about someday. Someday you’ll explode, and the world will never be the same.”

 

She carefully eased the door shut, the memories quieting after having had their say. Christine opened her eyes to Cait and Rob bickering again.

In her mind, she smacked them both on the back of the head. 

“Let’s split up and look around. I’ll go this way. You two go around back.” 

She really needed some Alone Time. Without waiting for them to acknowledge her command, she slipped out the way they had come, hugging the wall.

“Are you KIDDING me?!” Rob hissed after her, but she was long gone. He stared flatly at Cait.

She glared back.

He clenched his jaw.

She gritted her teeth.

He glowered.

She scowled.

He gripped his gun more tightly.

Cait spat at his feet. “Stupid fecker.” She scooted around the back of the block.

Rob felt every muscle in his body contract and his head trying to explode. He choked, strangling down the words he must not say. 

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Think happy thoughts.

Killing her would make him happy…

He sobered. Christine would be expecting better things from him. Well, if playing Miss Nanny to that stupid, red-haired, pain in the butt was making her happy, he’d do it. Taking another deep breath, he followed. 

He found Cait crouching at the base of a fire escape. She waved him over and pointed up.

He nodded. “This isn’t over,” he growled.

She stuck her tongue out at him and crept up the thin metal stairs.

With a frustrated sigh, he followed.

 

Bullets sparked off the rungs as they crested the battered fire escape. Rob snatched Cait’s hand and ran, dragging her with him. They flung themselves behind the remains of a rusty ventilator.

He crawled below the line of the debris to another spot. Silently beckoning her to follow, he crept to another. 

“Where’d the little fuckers go?”

“Come on out. I’ll make it nice and quick. You can trust me.”

“There they are! Get ‘em!” Gunshot studded their hiding place. 

To Rob’s shock, Cait ignored the gunfire and stood up, blasting with her shotgun back at the raiders. What the devil was she doing?! She was going to get herself killed! And would you look at her! Where the heck was Miss Good with a Gun earlier?!

The raider’s taunting turned rapidly into confusion and anger.

Rob yanked on Cait’s pant leg and scooted toward their next point of refuge. She followed on his heels.

A thick barrage of bullets chased them, driving them first one way, then another. They dodged and darted, aiming for the large pile of wood and debris.

Rob fell as a bullet clipped his thigh. Leaning down to grab his arm as she stumbled past, a bullet grazed Cait’s shoulder. Another smacked into her thigh pack. She felt the sting in her leg as she tried to drag Rob behind an island of splintered boards. God be damned, he was heavy! She felt the wind of another bullet ruffle her hair and cried out in terror.

GFOOOOM!!!

A grenade exploded in the middle of the raiders nest with a force that blew Cait and Rob forward like old newspapers in a radstorm. Dying screams echoed distantly in her foggy ears. Bits of debris, bone, and burnt flesh rained down. The smell was horrific. Dazed, Cait watched the upper torso of a raider bounce down onto the roof in front of her. Just the torso- no head, arms, guts, anything. Just the hollow carcass of a killer, caught at his own game.

“Run! Cait! Rob! Run!” Christine’s voice sliced through the chaos. 

They staggered to their feet, and unsteadily followed her ragged parkour across the broken roofs of the Esplanade.  
\--------------------------------

 

A strong fist gripped Cait’s ankle.

Her face-first dive toward the sidewalk jerked to a halt, abruptly terminating her embryonic love affair with the broken cement below. Awkwardly crashing back against the wall, Cait’s face slammed into the broken brick. She choked on the warm blood quickly filling her upside-down nostrils.

“AAAAAAAGGGG! CHRIS HELP!” Rob fought to keep his hold on her.

Cait could hear scuffling and grunting above her as Rob and Christine struggled to pull her to safety. She stopped swinging. Her body started inching upwards, back to the blessed security of the roof.

“There you are, you bitch!”

BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM!!!!

“Shit!” 

Cait felt herself quickly drop the few inches she had gained. She could hear Rob struggling above her.

BAMBAM! BAM!

“AAAAG! CHRIS! Hang on Cait! Don’t move!”

“Don’t let me go Rob!” she screamed. “Don’t you be lettin me fall!”

“It’s okay. I got you Cait. Chris! Please Chris! Help me!”

BAM! BAM!

“I’m try-“

“BAM!

“OOO THAT_”

BAM!

“SONOF-“

BAM! BAM!...BAM!...BAMBAMBAM!!!

Please hurry please hurry, Cait silently begged.

“I-“

BAM! BAM!.........BAM!

Silence. 

A split second later, Cait heard the sound of Christine’s gauss rifle clatter onto the rooftop. This time she was sharply hauled upward, banging her knees and chin hard as she all but flew up over the eave. She landed on her two saviors with a WHOOF that knocked the air out of all three of them. They lay there in a tangle, heaving and gasping for breath. 

Cait watched the flow of blood from her nose absorb into Rob’s coat. He’s going to be pissed off when he sees that. 

She giggled.

Rob propped himself up on his elbows and stared at her like she was going mad. She laughed harder.

Christine chuckled.

What the hell? My god, I’m surrounded by idiots.

It was the beautiful, flabbergasted, dumbfounded look on Rob’s face that set Christine off. She roared with laughter. 

Now he was really annoyed. She was as bad as Cait!

For her part, Cait had graduated to soundless heaving laughter, punctuated briefly by dragging in fresh oxygen, then blasting off again. She shoved her face into the rucked up fabric at Rob’s ribs, trying to stifle her merriment.

Resigned to waiting it out, Rob relaxed. Despite his irritation, he found it surprisingly easy. Being wrapped up in two women at the same time helped. 

Whoa boy. 

Being stuck under them both, Christine feebly tried to free herself. She finally gave up. Her laughter slowed to sporadic chortles, until the best she could do was lay there, weakly trying to recover her wind.

The cool breeze wafting off the river felt good, drying their sweat, and caressing their peaceful human jumble.

Rob felt warm fingers stroke his cheek. 

“Nicely done.”

He smiled at Christine. “Back atcha, Beautiful.”

Still breathing heavily from her laughing fit, Cait untangled herself and climbed off. She leaned back against a jutting rafter and tended to her bloody nose. She was pleased to see the bleeding had already stopped. Digging through her pack, Cait scowled at the damage. The bullet had pierced her soap, AND broken her damned toothbrush. But it had only blistered the skin on her thigh, not penetrated it. She pulled out a stimpak. 

“So are ya married? Or lovers or somethin? Ya seem pretty close. Closer than most I’ve seen.”

Christine grinned at Rob. “More of the ‘somethin’, I think. Kind of a little bit of a lot of things. Better than friends-“

“Better than family. Maybe lovers someday-“

“Maybe.” Christine’s smile faltered. 

“Wait. Only maybe?”

“Rob, I kinda don’t want to ruin what we have now.”

Rob’s mouth hung open. “Ruin? How would that be ruining it?” He waved away the proffered stimpak. 

“Well, you get overprotective sometimes.” Christine looked down at her hands. “You’d get even worse. Then I’d have to worry about you paying more attention to my safety than your own, and you’d probably get killed. And I’d feel smothered and get irritable and you’d hate me and it would be weird. “

“Weird, she says.” He snorted. “Weird, she says.”

Rolling to his knees, he pulled Christine up until they were sitting nose-to-nose. 

“Kiss me, Christine.”

She complied instantly. 

Rob was startled. No protest, no fight, no joking, she just leaned in and met his lips with her own.

Well that was unexpected.

Her mouth warm and caressing. Soft. Determined. Relaxing into it, he returned her gentle assault. It was everything he hoped it would be. But-

They broke apart. Rob rubbed his lips with the back of his hand. “Yep okay. Weird.”

“Yeah. Kinda icky weird. Like kissing my brother weird.” She blushed. “In a way it’s a bit of a bummer, Rob. I’ve wondered what that would feel like for, well, a while now.”

“Me too.” 

With a grin, Rob extended his hand. “Friends.”

Christine shook his hand firmly. “Better. The best.”

“Best best best.”

“Bestest best best best. We’ll just have to stick to saving each other’s lives all the time, okay?”

“Only because you keep getting us into situations that are going to get us killed. And I’ll always have your back. No matter what.” 

Rob hugged Christine. “I love you, you know? The bestest best best best way.”

“Love you back. And I’ll always be there watching yours, bestest best best best friend.”

Cait’s head turned back and forth, watching Rob and Christine’s affectionate banter. This was just too strange. People aren’t like THIS. They aren’t open and honest, and so trusting in each other. They don’t kiss and then talk about it like…friends. People hurt you and use you, make you feel small, and tell you you’re not worth anything. They don’t care about anything except themselves and what you can do for them. They lie. They don’t care if you’re happy. They don’t care if you’re dead.

I don’t understand these two. I don’t understand this.

But how nice would it be if it were real? What would it feel like if they cared about me like they do each other? A confusing warmth tugged at her heart.

What if you had someone you could joke around with? Someone you trust enough to talk to. Really talk. Open up and share everything, for better or for worse. Let them see you for who you really are. To tell someone every thought and secret and fear you had, and know they wouldn’t use it to hurt you, or stab you in the back. That they’d care. To know someone always has your back. Would save your life.

Cait felt a shock run through her body. They did save her life. Four times so far today.   
\-----------------------

Rob whirled around, his eyes frantically skimming the roof and the adjacent ones as well. He was alone.

She’s going to kill me for losing Cait! God I’m going to kill her! I’m going to kill them both! 

Snarling and fuming, Rob swung from the eave onto the broken balcony, shinnied down the drainpipe, then hopped to the ground. He winced. Maybe he should have used the stimpak Cait tried to give him. Pulling his rifle around to his shoulder and loosening the pistol in its holster on his thigh, Rob sprinted along the Esplanade and around the corner.

And almost tumbled over Cait. 

“SHHHH! Get off my back, ye great, heavy beast! I’ve almost got it.” She shoved him and returned to picking the lock on the barricaded entrance to Hangman’s Alley.

Shouts echoed from somewhere off to his left.

BLEED LITTLE HUMAN! BLEED AND DIE!

“YOU LIKE MY GAME?”

Shots punctuated the shouts of the raging supermutants.

“I’VE GOT YOU NOW!”

“SCREAM! SCREAM FOR MERCY!” 

“Scream yourselves, you fat slugs! You’re going to have to run harder to-“

Holy Christ! Christine was fighting with those supermutants? Alone?

BAMBAMBAM!

“AARRRGH! PAIN!”

BADADADADADADADADA! BADADADADADADA!

“Woot! A minigun! Could you be more perfect! Come on fatso! Move your lazy butt! You’ll never- Whoop!”

What in fucking hell was the matter with that woman! Rob cocked his gun and ran toward the sound of her voice.

Shit! He cursed!

Shit!

Aaaargh!

BADADADADADA! BAM! BADADADADADADADADADA! 

The sounds of the fight grew steadily closer.

“Cait! Open the gate! Open the gate!”

“Almost! I’ve almost got it!”

Rob dashed around the corner and crashed into Christine. 

They floundered for a moment, then Christine shoved him around and propelled him back the way he had come.

“Run Rob! Don’t shoot! Run!”

“Got it!” Cait’s victorious shout was music to Christine’s ears. 

The raider’s, not so much. “What the fuck is going on out there?!”

The gate flew open, almost knocking Cait over. Raiders poured out. She shrank back against the wall, praying they wouldn’t see her.

No such luck.

“Well, what do we have here? A pretty little girl. You know what we do with pretty little girls around here?”

Rob and Christine hurtled around the corner. 

Seeing the raiders, Rob hesitated, but Christine didn’t. She grabbed Cait’s arm, yanked the knife from her combat boot, and plowed right into their midst. 

“What the fuck? You wanna fight, little girlie? You wanna fight?!” The crazed eyes of a raider loomed in Cait’s vision. 

Now the fun begins, she thought with satisfaction. This is what I’m really good at. 

Pushing off his chest, Cait belted him right across the face. Blood and teeth flew, baptizing the woman beside him, but she wasn’t through with him yet. She grabbed his hair, slamming his face down onto her upraised knee. 

Spinning away from the over balanced punch of her own opponent, Christine hacked the knee of the raider collapsed over Cait’s arm, then reversed her knife and plunged it into his back.

“Hey!” Cait yelled. “That was my guy!”

“Sorry Cait! He was right in front of me! I couldn’t help it!” Christine fell on Cait as the fight surged against her back. Reaching over Cait, Christine throat-punched the woman screeching obscenities over her shoulder. Shoving Christine off, Cait turned and silenced the woman’s surprised hacking with a quick twist of her neck. 

“I’M GOING TO HANG YOUR GUTS AROUND MY NECK!”

“BLEED! BLEED AND DIE HUMAN!”

“Oh good, the cavalry’s here. Time to go guys!”

BAM! BAM! The report of Rob’s 10mm cut into the chaos. Caught in the middle of the swirling, heaving mob, Cait lost all sense of direction. To the back. To the back of the compound, Christine had said. Cait was to unlock another gate there so they could get out. A gun jammed into her ribs and she spun away, coming full circle to drive her fist into the side of her assailants head. She shoved his limp body to the ground.

Where the hell is the back of this damned yard?! She whirled around, trying to get her bearings.

BADADADADADADADA! 

“YOU WILL DIE HUMAN!”

“ARRRR! PAIN! YOU WILL PAY FOR THAT!”

“Just die already!”

“Fucking green bastards!”

Someone grabbed her hand. She yanked it back, ready to kill her newest assailant, but it was Rob.

“Come on Cait!” He snatched her hand again and dragged her around the corner, out of direct sight of the out-of-control melee.

“What’s her plan, Cait?! What does Christine need us to do?! Come on Cait! What does she need?!!”

But Cait was staring over his shoulder, her mouth forming a perfect O. 

Rob wheeled around, gun at the ready. And came to a dead stop.

Three terrified settlers were crouched, huddled together, as far from the pandemonium as they could possibly get. Their bodies were gaunt under their torn, bloody clothes, their huge, hollow eyes filled with fear. Dried blood and filth caked their faces and bodies. But it wasn’t their pitiful condition that had slammed Cait and Rob to a halt.

Christine was lying face down across the lap of the center woman. Blood dripped from where a knife was embedded in her shoulder. Two bullet holes bled down her leg. A dead raider lay on the ground beside them, his shirt wadded up in the hand of the smallest survivor, who was trying to staunch the bleeding.

Rob threw himself onto his knees beside her prone form. Cait yanked a stimpak from her thigh pack and passed it to him.

“I’ll keep watch.” She grabbed her shotgun and stood protectively over the group.

Rob stopped her. “No, Cait unlock the gate. We need to get out of here. Now.” 

Cait agonized for a long moment. She needed to unlock the gate! But she needed to keep anyone from running around the corner and attacking their severely incapacitated group. Rob was ignoring her, intent on patching Christine up. Two of the survivors were helping him.

The third stood up. He reached his hand out to Cait, his eyes dipping to the shotgun in her arms.

No! Hell No! This was a bad idea. Who are these people? They could be raiders too, for all she knew. He could turn the gun on them, and save himself. That’s what people did.

The man gestured again. “I can help”, he hoarsely whispered.

Cait’s anguished gaze whipped from the man to Rob and Christine.

Rob and Christine. They tried to help every damn body in the Commonwealth. They trusted people to want to help. Rob was trusting these three with his dearest friend, putting his unprotected back to them, trusting them to not hurt him. Rob and Christine trusted each other.

They trusted her.

She handed the gun to the ragged man. “You shoot anything that comes around that corner. Got it?”

He smiled and nodded. Taking a determined stance between the corner and the vulnerable group diligently working behind him, he hefted the shotgun and waited.

Pick. Pick. Snap. “Damn.”

Pick. Snap. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me! I’ll try it again.”

Rob’s calm voice reached out to her. “You can do it Cait. I know you can.”  
Pick. Pick. Pick. Pick.

Click.

“Nicely done.”

Cait looked back to see Christine, who was weak, but awake in Rob’s arms. She smiled. “Very nicely done, Cait.”   
\---------------------

“So that’s when you tossed in the artillery grenades?” Preston was leaning so far forward on the log he was seated on, Cait was sure he would topple into the fire any minute.

Rob lifted his beer in salute. “Yes sir! Hangman’s Alley is all cleared out and ready for a settlement team.” He took a long, satisfied swig.

Returning from her trip to Vault 111, Christine stepped back into the shadows, and quietly observed the group gathered around the firepit. Some fifteen settlers were crowded around Cait and Rob, listening eagerly as Colonel Garvey was debriefed on their successful mission. She was pleased to see the three people they had rescued were clean and well-fed. Their families, who had thought them dead in the raid, were constantly touching them- holding hands, putting an arm around their waist, a hand on a shoulder, a hug, a kiss. Proving to themselves their loved ones were really safe, really here. 

 

Her smile faded. 

Happy Birthday, honey. Make a wish and blow out the candles.


	18. The Grestest Victory is Not Winning Against People, But Winning Against One's Self.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cait and Christine breach Vault 95 and face The Chair.

Chapter 18

Cait eyed the chair warily. 

Steel and padded plastic stared back at her. 

The chair looked no different from any of the others she had seen around the Commonwealth. Chairs just like it lounged behind desks, giving comfort and support to people working at terminals and finishing reports. They were a convenient place to take a break. They gathered in circles so people could discuss the tasks for the day. Slung face to face with another, these chairs made a reasonably comfortable spot for a nap.

But this one… this chair’s ordinary appearance belied its dangerous intentions. This chair was not for taking a break or a nap. It did not give support. It did not give comfort. This chair had a single purpose.

To neutralize all of the chems in Cait’s body.

No. That was its function. What it did. But this function was not where its danger lie. Its function was not what Cait feared as she stared at the menacing piece of everyday furniture. 

Its stark metallic frame gleamed coldly in the tortured half-light of the war-ravaged room. Shadows crawled across the cracked plastic seat, their sinister claws clogging and pooling in the worn imperfections of its surface, before spilling over to greedily continue its determined journey to unite with the darkness beyond. The single functioning ceiling bulb struggled to remain alive; taunting her weakening courage as it alternately hid, and then revealed cracks and fissures that were the proud scars of its victory over every previous combatant.

The broken shards of Cait’s spirit, so painstakingly fused together by the warmth and care of her new friends, threatened to shatter again as her fear gained strength. Too fresh in its healing to flex or absorb the stress, tiny fractures crackled across the surface. The chair’s malevolent neediness reached out to Cait. Taunting. Promising. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead as she struggled to master her desire to run screaming from the Vault.

The chair is not alive. Cait clung to the mantra, repeating it over and over in her mind. The chair is not alive. It is not alive. It cannot pull me into its lap and strip away my sanity on its own. It cannot touch me without my permission. It’s just a chair. It’s just a damn chair.

It was like bread. Bread was pretty ordinary. Bread just sitting there on a plate was not impressive. Its function was to be eaten. But if you used it for its function, if you ate it, its function fulfilled its Purpose. Its Purpose made all kinds of things happen all by themselves. Your hunger went away. Your body was fed, making it stronger, replacing lost energy, readying it for what you needed it to do next. Bread was bread, but its Purpose was the true power behind its ordinary appearance. 

Like this god damned chair. It was just an ordinary chair. Its function was to drain all of the chems from ones system, erasing the body’s craving for them. 

Cait’s choking fear stemmed from what would really happen. 

It’s Purpose.

The chair would dissolve the barrier.

Buttressed and strengthened by as many chems as she could get her hands on, the barrier was a hard, thick wall that separated her tender spirit from the seething hell that snarled and roiled behind it. Memories of her life- her miserable beginnings at the hands of her hateful, abusive parents, harsh slavers selling her body, cruel, sick people clawing at her soul. Filthy hands reaching for her. Her mother’s scornful eyes, filled with malice as she heedlessly backhanded her little girl’s bruised and bleeding face. Her own shaking hands as she struggled to pull her broken fingers back into alignment without screaming and drawing unwanted attention to herself. Eating her own monthly bleeding for the tiny bit of nourishment it gave her starving body. Her parent’s scathing laughter when Cait returned and kicked down their door. Feeling ashamed when their harsh mockery dissolved into screams and pleading as she unhurriedly and with exquisite detail, mutilated their bodies and stripped everything from their ignorant minds except terror. They died, their last sight being Cait’s triumphant glee as she granted them penance for their sins, and sentenced them to meet Naria’s god. She was not ashamed of the unspeakable acts of retribution she had committed, but of the joy it gave her, the pleasure of watching their stricken, helpless eyes slowly cloud in death. 

So many hard, hurtful memories prowled behind that barrier, seeking to claw their way over the top and drag her into their embrace again, nightmares silenced only by the blessed oblivion of Jet, or lost in the rush of Psycho.

And now she was facing the chair whose function was her sole objective in being here. She was surrendering control, not to the function of the chair, but to its Purpose. 

She felt Christine’s warm hand gently squeeze her cold fingers. “You can do it, Cait. This is the reason we came. For you. You can do this.”

Cait took a step toward the chair. Panic filled her. Her body trembled violently. Her legs were rapidly forgetting their job was to keep her standing. She was going to throw up. She panicked as Christine withdrew her hand.  
No! No! You promised I wouldn’t have to do this alone! 

She closed her eyes, her mind screaming RUN!

Christine’s hand returned, gently stroking her back. Cait turned to her friend, her eyes fearful and pleading. 

“No. Please no. I can’t do this”, she whispered weakly.

In that moment, she hated Christine. Hated that stupid patient, loving look on her face. Hated how relaxed she was, her understanding and encouragement. If it wasn’t for Christine, she wouldn’t be here. She would still be living in the lovely, benevolent fog that muffled her memories, and hid her from the angry, condemning thoughts that racketed around her tormented brain. None of this would have ever happened. She could keep taking out her anger and self-hate on whatever Tommy threw in the cage with her at the Combat Zone, then cuddle down with some more Jet when the fights were over. She wouldn’t be out facing death every moment of every day, beside Christine and Rob as they single-mindedly wrought destruction on every Tom, Dick, and Harry threatening the peace of the Commonwealth. Whoever the hell Tom, Dick, and Harry were. Damn Christine and the weird things she says. 

They may have asked Rob to stay behind for this special trip, but his absence didn’t stop Christine from taking on everything that crossed their path. Cait may have been able to distract Christine long enough to get to Vault 95 in relative peace. She might have been able to distract Christine from taking this trip at all. They might have been alright. Yet it was like Christine was plowing the road through Hell to complete her mission to hand Cait to the devil himself.

Then they met up with Cricket.  
__________

“So throw your sticks and throw your stones ‘cause you ain’t gonna break ma bones, Aaaand I’m a sinner and I don’t be ashamed. Life goes on and if I’m wrong I guess I’ll burn in flames. Been uuuup the river and I been down the drain, life goes on and if I’m wrong I guess I’ll burn in flames! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! DRINK!”

“NO YOU SCREWED UP! YOU DRINK!”

“NO THAT WAS YOU! I SANG IT PERFECTLY! IF I COULD FIND A GUITAR IN THIS BLASTED COMMONWEALTH YOU”D SEE HOW RIGHT ON-”

“BWAHAHAHAHAHA! ARE YE KIDDING?! YE SUCK EVERY TIME YE…”

“DON”T EVEN START!”

“FINE! I DON’T WANT YER STUPID WHISKEY ANNAWAY! I GET THE JET!”

“NO! NO JET! YOU PROMISED!”

“FECKIN MAD BROAD! YE DON”T GET BETWEEN ME AND ME JET!”

Cricket shrieked as Cait lunged across her legs to snatch the inhaler from Christine, elbowing her squarely in the nose. Blood flew. Christine smacked Cait on the forehead, and held the Jet as far from her as she could. Cricket launched up with the intention of pushing Cait off her lap and onto the ground, but underestimated her weight. They stumbled onto Christine, yelling and thrashing at each other  
.  
“NONONONO! MINE!”

“LET GO OF ME YE DAFT SACK O SHYTE! OOOO FECKIN MOVE YER ARSE!”

“SHUT UP! CAREFUL YOU DUMB COW! YOU”RE GOING TO SHOVE ME IN THE MUD!”

“I’LL SHOW YE A DUMB COW!”

Laughing and struggling to get free, Christine heaved and shoved her way on to her knees. Cait jumped onto her back, still grasping for the Jet.

“I”LL GIVE YE SOME MUD IF YE DON”T GIMME THE GODDAMN JET!”

“NO IT”S MINE!” Cricket shouted, springing onto Cait’s back and scrabbling for the inhaler.

Overbalanced and more than just lightly derailed by the amount of alcohol they had consumed, the girls crashed backwards in a tangle, squealing and skidding to land with a wet splat in the swamp at the bottom of the hill. The Jet inhaler lay forgotten in the dirt by the campfire.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! I’M GOING TO BLOW YOUR ASS UP IN MY OWN FUCKING HONOR!” Cricket shrieked.

Cere cringed and held her rifle a little tighter. Being a caravan guard was hard work at the best of times, but there were some days when she wished she had hired out with Lucas Miller, or even Trashcan Carla. They were both surly and disagreeable, and rumored to be somewhat forgetful about paying the help, but when everything in the ‘wealth was attacking Cricket’s caravan because they couldn’t get her to shut the fuck up, Cere would have cheerfully traded to another caravan, no matter how bad-tempered the owner was. She dreamed longingly of the feral- plagued parking garage she had been living in when Cricket had offered to hire her as a guard. Sure the bastards had been annoying, but they were at least quiet. And she could shoot them when they bothered her.

Cricket never was. Cricket was a loud, unpredictable, violent, drug-addled lunatic. 

In the beginning, traveling with her was fun. They “tested” grenades, zero’d guns, cleaned out flamer nozzles with marvelously flammable turpentine, even blew off the occasional mini-nuke to check repairs on a fat man. There were always weapons to be experimented with or modified. Can’t sell something you weren’t sure worked or not, right? 

They wandered the Commonwealth, free as birds, shooting the occasional raider who got too acquisitive or radroach looking for a meal. They sold to settlers and gunners alike. Their only enemies were mutated creatures, and they chose routes to take them clear of the worst infestations. 

Now with the Minutemen back on their feet and new settlements springing up everywhere, routes were changing. To get to where the money was, Cricket was dragging them sideways through every mutant-blighted burg in the Commonwealth. Sure the pay was better, but mirelurks and worse were always right around the corner. And Cricket was still the loudest damn motor-mouth around.

Motor-mouth. Thanks for that one, Christine. 

And Christine! Goddamnit, as General of the Minutemen, you think she’d understand the dangers of the Commonwealth better than anyone, but NO! From the moment she and her red-haired hellion of a friend had joined their caravan at Goodneighbor, the trip had become one harrowing escapade after another. If they weren’t turning the ruins upside-down trying to find the General when she took off alone after some threat or another, they were fighting off whatever was attracted to the deafening pandemonium the three women were constantly creating. Cait would interrupt Cricket’s chattering, Cricket would yell at Cait for interrupting her, Christine would yell at them both to shut up. Cait and Cricket would yell at her to shut up. Christine would peg a rock at Cait. Cait would attack Christine, then Cricket would start shouting and throwing her own stones. The bedlam never ended. 

Cere looked over at Noah to find her fellow guard looking at her with the same, exasperated resignation. It was going to be a long night.  
____________

18 gunners, 3 assaultrons, a Sergeant Gutsy, and 6 turrets lay behind them, dead or out of commission for good. Vault 95 was a graveyard, haunted only by herself, and Christine. The quiet was unnerving. Almost as unnerving as the damn chair in front of her. But giving that damn chair permission to suck the drugs from her body was why she was here. 

Cait’s steps faltered. 

No. Not yet.

She shoved Christine’s hand away. “Ye should be the one getting inta that chair! Yer the one hidin from yer life!” 

Christine was taken aback. She looked puzzled. “What?”

“I meant it. Yer pickin fights and doin crazy things, always an inch from getting killed. It’s like ye want ta. I can see it. I know what ye want. I know what ye are Buttercups. Y’ ain’t foolin me.”

Christine’s face turned white. 

Mercilessly Cait continued. “Pickin a fight with every last gunner back there insteada slippin by. Pittin yourself against that behemoth insteada waitin fer us. The sentrybot. The queen mirelurk. Ye gave us the slip on purpose. I know ye did.”

“No… I…”

“Ye disappeared fer almost a month, and came back with a dozen new scars and a weak story about a trip te the Capital Wasteland. Ye think we’re stupid? Ye think we don’t worry about ye? Don’t be startin in on me, ridin me te face me life. Ye’d do well te take yer own damn advice. Rob’n me aren’t fooled with yer ‘adrenaline junkie’ talk. It’s a thin line between the thrills in battle and having a Deathwish. ”

Christine took an involuntary step back. “What…?” she whispered.

“You. Ye need that chair more than I ever will.” Cait gestured with her chin. “You. Sit.”

Christine crossed her arms over her chest and stared at Cait with an unreadable expression.

Oh no ye don’t. Cait was unimpressed. She was not going to fall for whatever Christine was planning to deflect her with. 

Her jaw dropped when Christine walked away.

Christine set mines in the hallway outside the clinic, then shut the door and rigged her laser rifle to the handle. Then she walked over, and very deliberately sat in the chair.

Cait was stunned. This was not what she expected.

Christine waited. “I’m here. What did you want Cait?”

Cait stared. “I…umm…”

“You wanted me to sit and I sat.”

“Uhhh…”

“What do you think this machine can do for me, Cait? I’m not addicted to any drugs. I don’t have anything to hide me from my memories. They hound me every moment I’m awake. They scream in my nightmares when I try to sleep. Cato told me I could never have my old life back and he’s right. I can’t. So I wake up every morning and tell myself I can make this new life matter. Every mutant I kill, every raider encampment I destroy, every time I take out a deathclaw or radscorpion, it fills me with the rush of knowing I’m making it work here. This is my life now and it’s worth something. I have to be worth something or why the hell am I here? If I can’t make a difference, then I might as well crawl back into my damned vault and die. Dear god Cait, I wish I could take jet or psycho or whatever we can find to push my particular circle of hell away, but I can’t make myself do it. You know how tempting it is. It would be so easy.”

She continued ruthlessly, lashing back at Cait, lashing out at herself. “All I can do is try to turn this wretchedness around me into a better place. I can’t help myself Cait, but I can help someone else. And I will. At least I have that to cling to when my heart is ripping itself apart, and I want to scream until there’s nothing left of me. But this is it. This is what I’ve got. In my head, my memories are constantly beating against my brain, but they can’t BE here. They don’t belong. They rip and tear at me all the time. The harder they fight, the harder I fight. I don’t have a death wish, Cait. I’m not trying to die. Look around. If I wanted to die, I’d be dead already. I have the exact opposite of a death wish. Cait, I need to feel alive. I need to prove to myself I’m alive.”

Tears blurred her vision, threatening to spill over. “You want me to face my pain? This chair won’t fix any of it. But I’ll make you a deal. Five questions Cait. You can ask any five questions you want. Anything. You be the chair and make me stare my pain right in the face. And I’ll answer honestly, no matter what you ask me. Then you’ll get in this chair and do what you came to do. You help me learn to live with my pain and I’ll help you learn to live with yours. Fair deal?”

They stared at each other.

Cait blew out the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding in. “Anythin?”

“Anything.”

“Yer sure?”

“Anything, Cait. And I don’t care how much it hurts. I’ll give it to you. One, two, three, four, five. Anything. Then it’s your turn.”

Cait pulled over a rolling chair and sat. She continued staring at Christine in silence as her friend sniffled and wiped her tears away on her sleeve. Questions whirled around her brain. This is not at all what she had thought was going to happen. Christine was supposed to back down. They were supposed to turn around and head home. Damn it. I shoulda known Christine wouldn’t give up. She never did. And now she’s turned it back around on me. 

Well fine. Cait was going to make this worth it.

“Okay, here’s a question. Tell me about yer name. Christine Christopher is weird. Don’t most parents call their kids names that don’t sound like each other? I’m not Cait Caitopher. Rob’s not Rob Robopher. Preston isn’t Preston Prestonopher. Why are ye named Christine Christopher?”

Christine was startled. “Why on earth are you asking that? You could ask anything.”

“I’m askin the questions here. And I want te know.” She settled back smugly. “Answer.”

“Easy peasy. My-“

“What’s an easy peasy?”

“One question at a time, for Pete’s sake!”

“Who’s Pete-“ Cait slammed her mouth shut and gestured for Christine to continue.

“You ready yet? My dad’s name was Christopher Matthew Barlow. His parents died and when he was adopted by Dennis and Arlene Christopher, his name became Christopher Christopher. He loved my grandparents very much, so he kept the name. Then he fell in love with and married my mom, Kristen Marie Anneker, and she became Kristen Christopher. Chris and Kris Christopher. Can you see where this is going?”

“Keep going. I want te hear it all.”

“My brother was born, and they kept on with it and named him Christian Michael Christopher. Chris M Christopher. Then I was born and they named me Christine Madeline Christopher. Chris M Christopher. All four of us with an M middle name. Chris, Kris, Chris, and Chris Christopher. My dad called us C1, C2, C3, and I was C4, which is actually a type of explosive. I didn’t talk, and he used to tell me to explode, say something. That’s what C4 does. It explodes. But I didn’t want to. I didn’t have anything to say.”

“What do ye mean ye didn’t have anything to say? Why didn’t ye talk?”

Christine’s mouth went dry. “Is that your second question?”

“Yeah. Give it up Chris M Christopher. Tell me.”

She stared at her hands. This was starting to hurt, fast. “Note to self: Don’t let Cait ask questions ever again.”

“Oh har har har. Spill Christine. Ye promised.”

Cait met Christine’s agonized eyes, but didn’t relent. “Tell me.”

Christine swallowed. “My mom’s brother abused me”’ she whispered. “For a long time. I was really little when it started. It wasn’t until the 6th grade that my parents found out. Uncle John kept telling me if I said anything, he’d go after my brother. I didn’t realize he meant to not say anything about the abuse, and I could talk about everything else. I just didn’t talk period. Then when Christian walked into the basement and saw what Uncle John was doing to me, he almost killed him. I tried to tell Christian it was okay because Uncle John wasn’t hurting him if he was hurting me, but Christian lost his mind. He was in jail for two years before the judge took away my uncle’s charge of attempted murder. What I said put my brother in jail for two years, Cait. I never wanted to open my mouth again.”

This Cait could understand. Having your body used without your permission was a painful thing. She could see why it hurt Christine to talk about it. But a few things puzzled her.

“What’s a charge of attempted murder? What’s a judge? Why didn’t ye go back and kill yer Uncle John like I did me parents? It’d made ye feel better. Did me. Sort of.”

“Are you asking questions 3, 4 and 5?”

“Yes. No. Wait a minute.” Cait shuffled this new information around in her head. “Here. I want te know why ye didn’t kill yer Uncle John. That’s me question.”

“I really really wanted to, Cait, to tell you the truth. I love Christian very much. He was the best big brother a girl could want. He taught me to ride my bike, and he always shared his french fries with me, and he-“

“What’s a bike? And french fries?”

“Stop asking questions unless you want them to count.”

“Fine. Those don’t count. Keep going.”

Christine grumped. “Right. So I really, truly wanted to kill Uncle John, but I was afraid that because I was underage, my dad would get in trouble for me, then he’d go to jail. Then in college this happened,” she gestured around her, “If my uncle were here now, I’d shred him slowly with sixteen different weapons, then thrown his carcass to the ferals. Bastard. I hate him. More than anything.”

Cait absorbed this new information. “Note te self: ask Christine about judges, bikes, french fries, college, and underage.”

Christine groaned. “Har har har yourself. Not sure I’m glad you just picked up ‘Note to Self’.” 

“Next question…”

“Four”, Christine prompted.

“Four then. Are ye cheatin? Ye need te teach me how te count. Ye said “one two three four five.’ Bum bum bum bum bum. I asked bum bum bum. Next bum is… four? Then the last bum is five. Right?”

“I never thought of it like that. You’re pretty smart, you know?“ Christine snickered. “Nice bum.”

Cait giggled. “Note te Self: don’t tell Christine about me bum.” 

Christine chuckled. “I think your bum speaks for itself.”

“It will if ever eat Cram again!”

Christine lost it.

 

Wiping the tears from the corner of her eye, Cait moved on. “Bum question four. What did ye mean when ye said, ‘this happened’? What happened?”

There it was. Finally. This was the direction Christine had anticipated the questions would go. Preston knew how she got here, though he hadn’t believed her at first. It took Cato’s story and a trip to Vault 111 to convince him. Even after burying all of the dead occupants of the failed cryo experiments, Christine still occasionally caught him staring after her with a perplexed expression. Rob didn’t even know yet. He still thought she came from the Capital Wasteland, or someplace out west.

Cait raised an eyebrow expectantly. 

“270-ish years ago I lived here. My family lived in South Boston, and I was going to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, which is what CIT used to be. MIT was a school for eggheads…”

“Eggheads?” Cait interrupted.

Christine sighed. “Scientists. They created a special partition within the school to foster unusual projects. I never paid much attention to the other programs except for my roommate Anna’s. She specialized in Cryogenic studies. Students like me with more traditional, non-scientific majors were accepted to ‘balance’ the programs…”

“Cryogenic?”

“Putting live creatures into a frozen stasis, then thawing them out with no degradation of tissue or mass.”

“Stasis? Degradation? Majors?”

“Cut it out, Cait. This is hard enough as it is.”

“But I can’t follow ye.”

Christine hmmphed. “So one thing led to another and I volunteered to be frozen. To help their experiments. Worked fine, then I went under for a long time- which is another long story- and unthawed somehow only a little over a year ago. And here I am.”

Cait smiled. “Okay.”

Christine almost fell off the chair. “Okay? Seriously? You believe me?”

“Of course. Makes a lot of the weird things ye say and do make sense. Why? Are ye lyin te me?”

“No! It’s just… I kinda didn’t expect you to. I almost don’t believe it myself sometimes. But I keep waking up here, so I guess it’s real. I’m really here. I’m now. Whatever. I’m over 290 years old and trying to figure out a world that’s incredibly different than where I was, what felt like just a couple of days ago. That’s my story. The truth.”

“Tell me more.”

“More?”

“Yeah. Were ye an egghead? Were ye married? Where did ye live? What was it like? What do ye miss the most?”

“Okay wow. That’s an awful lot of questions for a woman who only has one bum left.”

Cait giggled. “Okay. Bum number five. If I decide not te do this. Do ye really think ye can stop me from leavin?”

“Yes I do. Sit, you honorless coward.”

Honorless?! Coward?! Son of a bitch, Christine turned me back on meself again. 

She marched to The Chair and sat.

__________

“It’s about damn time you got back!” Cricket yelled as Cait and Christine crested the rise leading down to Somerville Place. “This place has only farmers! All they want are pipe pistols and stupid ammo. Not a single one slobbering for a mini-nuke! Boring boring BORING! Get your asses down here and help me liven it up before I blow this place up just for the excitement! I haven’t had a big boom or small boom in a week!”

Cait smiled wearily at Cere and Noah as they passed by. Still on high-alert. Did they never get any rest?

“I’m going to make your day Christine! Look what I traded three of your modified sniper pipe pistols and twelve boxes of .38’s for! Now let’s wake this damn place up!”

Christine stopped dead, her jaw dropping open. Cricket was waving around a guitar.

 

“…came across a place in the middle of nowhere with a big black horse and a cherry tree...”

“Woo-hoo…Woo-hoo...”

Despite how exhausted she was from her turn in The Chair, Cait couldn’t remember ever being this happy or having this much fun. Seated on a log next to Christine, she clapped and swayed with the music, belting out ‘Woo-hoo’ whenever Chris nodded at her. Her thoughts had never been so clear. Every note in the song was bright and distinct. This music was so much more fun than Diamond City Radio! 

“Felt a little fear upon my back, I said don’t look back just keep on walkin…”

“Woo-hoo…Woo-hoo…”

“And the big black horse he looked this way and said Hey Hey Hey will ya marry me?”

“Woo-hoo…Woo-Hoo…”

Settlers danced around them, whooping and stomping and carrying on like they’d never heard music before. Cait giggled. Well maybe they never had. Not like this. 

After paying Cricket a ridiculous number of caps and proclaiming the condition of the guitar well worth each one, Christine had spent an hour or so fiddling with the strings and plugs of her new toy. She strummed a bit and made some adjustments, then played some more and did it again. A few times she laughed out loud from the sheer joy of just having the guitar in her hands. 

Now, the entire little community was caught up in her enthusiasm. Putting away their tools and closing up shops, they had traded the day’s work for some fun. Beer and food came out. More logs were dragged up near Christine. It had been weeks since the General had been at their settlement, and now she was here, and bringing some special fun to boot. And tomorrow was Saturday, and a day off. Definitely time for a party!

“But I said No no, No nonono, I said No no, you’re not the one for me. No no, nonono I said No no, you’re not the one for me…”

“Woo-hoo…Woo-hoo…”

Cait added a new clapping pattern, grinning at Christine’s emphatic head-nodding. Damn this is fun! We need to do this every week. Relax and cut loose. Maybe every Friday night. Betcha Rob and Preston would love it too.

Cricket tossed a Jet inhaler into Cait’s lap, and turned without missing a beat, back to Christine, yelling, clapping, and stomping.

The music faded to the background as Cait stopped clapping and stared at the chem. Her smile disappeared. There it was, her drug of choice, her willing escort to the blissful head of sparkly fog into which every trouble Cait had ever had disappeared. Wouldn’t that be a fun addition to the night’s festivities! And of course Cricket had lots more. The party could go on forever.

She held the little unit in her palm. It fit so comfortably. So naturally. Automatically her arm lifted the Jet to her mouth.

Cait froze.

She tossed the inhaler back to Cricket, ignoring her incredulous look. 

Cait’s radiant smile matched Christine’s.

“Woo-hoo!...Woo-hoo!...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting. Vacation with my brother was great!


	19. Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts. -Winston Churchill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Concord- Preston's story

Chapter 19- Preston’s Story

“YOU WANT ME TO DO WHAT NOW???!!!!

“Grab that rifle down there! I have people in here and we’re going to be overrun by those raiders!”

The shadowy figure on the upstairs balcony stopped firing and jabbed his gloved hand down at an odd-looking gun lying on the sidewalk in front of the Museum of Freedom.

“We need your help! Please!”

Christine’s eyes dropped to the gun lying in the street. The thing he was gesturing at so emphatically was long, boxy, and looked to be heavily reinforced with... duct tape. The whole center section was gone. It sure didn’t look like any gun she had ever seen before. It looked broken. And it was lying right out in the open. This guy wanted her to run out there and grab a broken gun? Was he nuts?! 

Christine blew out an exasperated breath. She truly didn’t know who was the bigger lunatic -him for wanting her to run out in front of a bunch of raiders, snag a broken gun, and save his people in the museum, or herself because she knew she was going to do it. 

She glanced around. Not a shred of cover in sight. Great. Well, she could sprint for it, but would undoubtedly end up a corpse like the two clad in ordinary clothes that were lying in the road. A half-dozen more roughly garbed bodies sprawled on the roadway, a testament to the sacrifice of the determined group, and the marksmanship of the man on the balcony. That must be one special gun down there.

“Hurry!”

Cato hummed behind her. “Uh... mum? Maybe we can go around the back. If we could-“

“THERE YOU ARE! YOU PICKED THE WRONG FIGHT GIRL!”

Christine almost swallowed her heart as a raider leapt around the corner, right into her face. With a squeak of terror, she slammed the butt of her shotgun into his dirty face, and bolted. Dog and Cato tore after her.

She dashed through an alley, across another street, then ducked into a derelict pub. Panting, she peeked out. The raider was nowhere in sight. She kicked at the wall angrily. 

“Damn he startled me! I hate raiders! They’re stupid and savage and mean-”

“And they bleed, Miss Christine. Remember?”

Christine stopped ranting and stared at the bulbous metal eye floating so close to her own. 

A slow smile curled across her face. “And taste just like chicken. Cato, you never fail me.” 

“Mum, they...a...what?”

Slinging the shotgun over her shoulder, she gripped her 10mm tightly and edged out onto the road, slipping from one shadowed storefront to the next. The raider’s voices became clearer as she flitted closer.

“WHERE’D THAT LITTLE BITCH GO?”

“YOU SURE YOU SAW SOMETHING?”

“OF COURSE I’M SURE! THIS IS BULLSHIT.”

“Cato, Dog,” Christine whispered. “Get ready to run.”

She crouched behind the rusted remains of an old car. Peeking up, she sighted on two raiders that were talking together.

“I GOTTA CUT DOWN ON THE JET. MAKING ME JITTERY.”

“NOW DON”T GO TALKING CRAZY!” The both burst into raucous laughter.

“Hey you! Hey lady! Over there! Grab the gun!

Christine swore. Son of a bitch, that damn guy in the balcony was going to give away her position again!

She started pulling the trigger on her 10mm as fast as she could.

BAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAM!

She ducked back down behind the car and froze, listening intently.

“YOU KILLED HIM!”

“OKAY CUT THE SHIT! WHO IS THAT?”

“SHOW YOUR FACE! COME ON! I DARE YA!”

Three raiders yelling, and maybe one or two more in the background. None sounded like they were coming toward her hiding place. Staying low, Christine crawled back into the bar.

“Dog, Cato, follow me. I have another idea.”

 

The last of the Commonwealth Minutemen lowered his gun and retreated into the shadows of the dilapidated balcony, his eyes skimming the ruins of Concord for a glimpse of the woman. Where did she come from? Where had she gone? Did she run? 

“What are we going to do?” demanded an angry, dark-haired woman in the room behind him. She halted her pacing and glared at him. “We followed you, even when you put all your faith in the ravings of this old druggie. She’s crazy as a molerat! We trusted you and you believed her! We’re going to die here, Preston Garvey, and it’s all your fault!”

A feeble, singsong voice tried to reassure her. “We’re close. We’re almost home. I can feel it”

“Shut up Mama Murphy! You don’t know what you’re saying! You never know what you’re saying! We’re going to die here! Did you see THAT in your drug dreams?”

“She’s here for us. A woman out of time.” Mama Murphy nodded her old head sagely and went back to searching her pack for a Jet inhaler or syringe of Psycho, even though she knew there were none left. 

“I can’t see any more without the Jet.” Defeated, the old woman sat back with a sigh.

Preston hung his head. The angry woman was right. He and only four other loyal Minutemen had just barely rescued a handful of settlers from what was now called the Quincy Massacre. His beloved Minutemen, the group he had devoted his life to, had torn itself apart following the betrayal of its leaders. Most had sided with the marauding Gunners. They had destroyed the town and everyone in it. Quincy was a Gunner stronghold now, run by the traitorous ex-Minutemen who uncaringly strode its streets, through the bones and blood of the very people they had sworn to protect. 

Preston and the refugees had fled Quincy, searching one place after another, hopeful that one would be a safe site to finally settle. The valiant resolve of Preston’s faithful brothers and sisters-in-arms shamed him. They had sacrificed themselves one by one around him in the exodus, each Minuteman proudly giving his life to shield the vulnerable group. All except for him. He was the end of a dream. The last Minuteman.

Preston’s vision of a united Commonwealth had fractured under the treachery and violence of Quincy. Sharp splinters pierced his heart more and more deeply, the further they ran from what had been meant to be a beacon of hope to the people of the Commonwealth. Now, the final Minuteman no longer had a safe haven to lead these people to. They were as directionless now as the world around them. Only 4 settlers were left, and despite his best intentions and efforts, he had led them to their deaths.

The Museum of Freedom. He choked back bitter tears at the irony of their last stand.

“Well?” The woman crossed her arms and glared daggers at him.

“Marcy, please calm down. You can’t blame him. He did his best.” Her husband reached out to comfort her, but she slapped his hands away.

“And you Jun Long! You let our son die! You let those bastards kill our boy!” She crumpled to her knees. “My baby. My little boy is dead.” She sobbed. “It should have been you! I hate you! I hate you all!”

His wife’s words tore at his heart. She hated him. He had been unable to save his boy. He was a failure in every way that mattered to him. He would have given his life a hundred times over if it would have saved his precious son’s life. Instead the very Minutemen he had trusted his family’s lives with, had slit Kyle’s throat as he and his wife screamed impotently from the next room.

Jun turned away.

“Now now, we can’t be fighting amongst ourselves." A soft, southern drawl broke the uncomfortable silence. “We need to be patient and put our minds to finding a way out of here.” He turned to Preston. “I like this new idea. It’ll work just fine.”

Sturges faith made the hurt in Preston’s heart even more unbearable. The man was from somewhere down south, and if the histories were to be believed, it was in Sturges very blood to never give up. As their desperate group had retreated from one treacherous refuge to the next, it had been Sturges’ calming voice and steadfast faith in the Minutemen that held them together and encouraged them onward, not Preston’s.

Even now, despite one failure after another, the man pecked patiently at a computer terminal, confident in Preston’s wildest plan yet to save them. Sturges had been asked to try and break through the museum security protocols to open a supply cage in the basement. A Minuteman had asked, and he would do it. He would not let Preston down.

Preston gripped his laser musket and returned to the balcony. If he was going to die, he would take down as many of these raiders as he could. He only hoped it would be enough.

Wait! There she was! Preston’s heart leapt as he spotted the woman creeping around the side of a porch. Her eyes were glued to the raiders as they joked among themselves and taunted him on the balcony.

She stealthily inched across the street toward the church, her dog silently padding along at her side.

Why was she still using that useless pistol?

“Lady, get the laser musket!” he yelled. “It’s better than your gun! Get it! It’s right there!”

The woman smiled up at him and tossed a frag mine into the street.

Wait. Smiled? Why on earth was she smiling?

“PEEKABOO!”

“THERE SHE IS! GET HER!”

She sprinted into the church, the raiders hot on her tail. 

GFOOOOM!! Pieces of raider rained down as the mine enthusiastically embraced its destiny.

Shouting in surprise and anger, the last three charged into the church after her and disappeared.

Gunfire studded the air. The dog snarled and howled. Men’s and women’s voices screamed at each other. Preston heard cries of pain and defiant yelling. More gunfire. Silence.

Preston stared numbly at the church. He had led another innocent wastelander to her death. The poor woman had probably been trying to find a place of safety, just like they had been. A real Minuteman would have found a way to rescue her and keep her safe, instead of pushing her into danger. He should have let her go. Encouraged her to run. Now she was dead, and it was his fault. Again.

The woman limped down the ruined church steps and sat, blood seeping from her leg. A Mr. Handy flew out from beside the porch where it had been waiting and jabbed her with a stimpak. Breathing a sigh of relief, she laid back, but struggled back up again as the dog began enthusiastically licking her face. 

“OY! Dog, get off you goof!” She rumpled his fur affectionately. 

Preston almost danced with relief. There she was! She had survived! And had even taken out the last of the raiders! Mama Murphy had been right! This woman had come to help them! He couldn’t contain his delight.

The woman wobbled to the street just below the balcony of the Museum of Freedom where Preston was perched. She picked up the laser musket and the fusion cells lying beside it, eyeing them with curiosity. 

“See? It’s much more powerful than that pistol you have,” he yelled down. “You could have taken out those raiders with ease.”

Without even looking, she fired up at Preston with her new gun, and disappeared into the museum.

________

 

“Okay Cato. You win. I’m stuck.”

“Admit you need help, Miss Christine.”

“No! I don’t need help. I’m just stuck.”

“First the raiders on the street, then the raiders in the museum, and now this. Dog and I and now Mr. Preston could have helped at any time. You just wouldn’t ask us. You never even considered us in your plans. You kept doing everything yourself. You’re very lucky he ignored your orders and was there to help. This isn’t good, mum. I am your honorable ninja master butler and it is my job to keep you trained. This was not training. This was insanity.”

“I was winging it.”

“No. You had a plan before you even started running, Mum. Now you can’t get free without help. You have only to ask.”

Christine eyed her friend. “You’re awfully bossy for a robot.”

“My new position transcends all other roles, mum.”

“Can I have another stimpak? My head still hurts.”

“You’ve used four already. I’ll give you another when you’re on your feet again.”

“You’re bossy AND mean.”

“Mum, I can be downright unruly. Say it, Miss Christine.”

“Dammit FINE! I… need help. Please get this thing off of me.”

Preston grinned. “What was that again? I didn’t quite catch it.”

“Ooooooooo, just you wait until you’re flat on your back in power armor, and under a bazillion pound paperweight.”

She struggled and heaved again, but couldn’t budge even an inch. She was well and truly stuck. She gritted her teeth in frustration. 

“AAAAARRRGGGGODDAMMIT I NEED HELP! PLEASE HELP ME!”

Preston chuckled, and marveled again at Cato’s expressiveness. If a robot could look smug, Cato surely did. 

“Well done, Miss Christine.”

“Shut up."

 

\-------------

 

Blang. Blang. Blang. Blang. 

“Preston, I’m loving this power armor, but you can’t exactly sneak up on someone in it, can you.”

“No Christine, I seriously doubt you could.”

“But it sure was the tool for the job back at the museum, wasn’t it!” she enthused. “This big monster gun-“

“Minigun,” he interrupted.

“Yeah minigun! I love this gun! It has a hell of a spread though. I mean, you could barely hit the broad side of a barn unless you were right in front of it. Good thing power armor lets you get close enough. Did you hear the raider’s bullets pinging off? That was great!”

“Yeah. Great.” Preston exchanged a look with Cato.

The Mr. Handy seemed quite fond of Christine, exclaiming gladly when she had donned the armored exoskeleton on the roof of the museum. Something about not cutting herself. Despite being a robot, Preston was surprised at the emotional nuances the unit displayed. Like right now. The look Cato returned him was of thorough exasperation. He and Cato definitely shared a hesitation about the almost unholy joy Christine found with the armor. She had an alarming tendency to throw herself into things with enthusiastic determination, something that had stood her well in her rescue of the refugees from the Museum of Freedom. 

Stubbornly addressing every obstacle between her and her intention of reaching the settlers, she had killed raiders, climbed through walls of rubble, vaulted up splintered staircases, and broken down doors with single-minded ferocity. No fortifications or barricades could keep her from her goal. When the refugees had been found, her goal changed to getting them safely out of the museum and on the road to Sanctuary Hills. In pursuit of that goal, she had picked the lock on the security cage to retrieve a power core- something she had never even heard of, to activate power armor- something else she had never heard of. With nothing but courage, instincts, and blind faith in Preston’s plan, she had risked her life yet again to climb out onto an unstable roof, and follow his outlandish instructions to encase herself in the power armor, use the enhanced strength the suit gave her to rip the minigun free of the derelict vertibird that had crashed there hundreds of years ago, then use the rusty, ancient, untested weapon on the fresh tribe of raiders firing their own guns at her from below. She had done all of these things with a fierce, implacable determination, and seemingly without regard for herself, or the injuries or death that could very easily have been the result of any of her courageous choices.

And now, the armor gave her persistent fascination a new target. She had been surprised and delighted to find she could open a locked gate with a badly-thrown filing cabinet, or reduce a raider’s gun to a wad of scrap metal with one hand. And as if wearing her own personal armored tank wasn’t already thrilling her enough, proofing the devastation of an impact landing had made her shout with glee. She felt mighty, energetic, and almost completely bulletproof. The anxiety she was causing to Cato and himself was wearing them both to a frazzle, and they were only halfway down the street from the museum. She was currently clomping over the dead raider bodies, giggling about being a monster named Godzilla stomping someone called Tokyo.  
Preston sighed. The journey to Sanctuary Hills was going to be a long one.

Blang.

Christine stopped dead in her tracks. “Cato! What the hell is that?”

At the end of the street was a huge…animal…thing. Taller than Christine’s power armor, it looked to be about twice the weight as well. The huge beasts mottled grey hide stretched tautly over thick, heavy muscle. Long, curved horns jutted from its forehead, as sharp and deadly-looking as its massive claws. Vicious and terrible, its powerful jaws snapped together as the monster scented the air for prey. 

Then looked directly at them.

“Deathclaw,” Marcy whispered.

“Eats people?” Christine whispered back. 

“Yes,” she quavered.

“Any chance it just ate and won’t be interested in us?”

“None.”

No. No this couldn't be happening. Preston sank back into despair. They had been so close. Cato had told them Mama Murphy’s prophesied Sanctuary Hills was less than a mile away. They had survived the Quincy Massacre, and crossed the entire Commonwealth to find it, losing friends along the way, but never hope. And it was there! Sanctuary was real! This information, and the unknown woman showing up like an angel to save them from the raiders of Concord had reignited the soul of the Minuteman within him. They were going home. The Minutemen had saved these people. They were going to survive.

And now a Deathclaw. 

The monsters eyes narrowed to malevolent slits as it stomped and threw dirt and roared at the sky. Murderous, bestial rage rolled from its corded body, washing over and immobilizing them within its potent miasma.

“Into that building,” Christine’s calm voice cut through the paralyzing fog, directing them. Carefully placing herself between the monster and the fragile group, she continued to speak quietly and firmly. “Go up to the second floor. There’s a balcony in the back you can escape through. Dog, Cato, go with them. Preston, they’re going to need you.”

The group silently filed into the old pub.

Preston watched until the last person disappeared up the stairs, then stood guard in the doorway behind her. Fighting a Deathclaw to protect the settlers was an honorable way for a Minuteman to die. 

It was almost a relief. The shame of still believing in what the people of the Commonwealth had come to mock, and associate with treachery. The searing pain of finally becoming part of the noble organization he had idolized, only to stand by impotently as its grasping, self-serving leaders held their own desires over the good of the people, and destroyed his beloved fellowship from the inside out. His own pathetic, miserable inability to lead even this small group of refugees to safety. It was a worthy death for the last Minuteman, an honor he didn’t deserve. With this final act, he would earn a little piece of it back, and maybe a bit of redemption too.

“It has been an honor knowing you, Ma’am.”

“Preston, we are not going to die. The Commonwealth needs us. I refuse to die.”

“We all die someday.” 

“BUT NOT TODAY!” Christine shouted, startling him. She hurtled herself directly at the Deathclaw and opened up the minigun.

Bullets tore into the Deathclaws skin. Howling with pain and anger, he charged toward the food that was hurting him. It was running right to him. Good. Easier to catch. He gave a powerful shout.

The shockwave almost knocked Christine to her knees. Staggering, she fumbled the minigun back into place and began firing again. The gun barrel was heating up fast.

Bloody hell! If he does that again I’m in trouble! She started running again.

The Deathclaw swung a clawed hand at her, its talons biting deeply into the steel of the armor and knocking her down. Her minigun fell to the ground. Christine’s eyes went out of focus and her ears rang as it gave another shockwave blast directly into her face. The monster pummeled her mercilessly, rocking her back and forth and tearing up her armor in its craving for flesh. Her bones burned. The muscles in her arm stung as razor-sharp talons tore off an armored plate and ripped into her skin.

Suddenly the Deathclaw stopped. Through the debilitating haze, Christine could still feel the Deathclaw hovering above her. It jerked, then jerked again. Another shockwave pounded her already overloaded senses. The heavy shadow started to move away. 

Preston fired at the Deathclaw again. “COME OVER HERE YOU UGLY GODZILLA! GET AWAY FROM HER! COME GET ME STUPID! COME GET ME!”

His laser musket twanged again and again as he overloaded its capacitors, creating stronger, more devastating shots. Running to another doorway, he fired, cranked up, and fired again. He had to get the monster away from Christine, if she was even still alive. And the settlers needed more time to escape. They needed to be long gone before Preston fell beneath the Deathclaws rage, and the beast began looking for his next meal. He would give then as much time as he physically could. He wound up the musket again.

Christine’s vision started to clear, but she couldn’t hear a damn thing and her body felt like she’d been run over by a bulldozer. Why was the Deathclaw leaving her alone? She had been helpless. It could have peeled her out of her tin suit and eaten…

NO! It was going after easier prey! No metal suits! The settlers! OH GOD NO!!

Ignoring the pain ripping through her skull, Christine rolled and grabbed the Deathclaws tail as it slithered by, gripping it tightly with one hand and pounding viciously with the other. She hung on with all of her strength.

The deathclaw whipped around toward the new threat. He roared, trying to swing his muscular tail back and forth to dislodge her, but the weight of the heavy, metal apparatus was too much. He clawed at the power armor clad figure savagely. More steel plates clattered on the broken street as his rage grew. Finally yanking her free, he slammed Christine down on the ground beside him.

Christine’s wrist smashed against the minigun, lying forgotten where she had dropped it on the road. She fumbled for it as the beast screamed into her face again. Struggling against the choking darkness, she felt her gauntlet close on the ammo drum.

Lifting the gun took everything she had. She swung it at the monster as it reared back for another roar.

If I could just get it between my body and the Deathclaw, Christine thought muzzily.

Angry at the meat that was still trying to hurt him, the Deathclaw bit at the gun in his way. The entire barrel of the gun disappeared into his deep jaws, and his teeth clamped down only inches from Christine’s gauntleted fingers. The metal groaned as the pressure from the Deathclaws powerful jaws slowly began to crush the steel.

Christine giggled. It must be my birthday. She pulled the trigger.

A violent hailstorm of bullets tore through the back of the Deathclaws throat and skull, spraying the evening sky with a bright firework of bullets and blood. As the lifeless body collapsed onto her, and bloody bits of its brain rained down, Christine smiled, and let the darkness claim her.


	20. Do You Like Green Eggs and Ham? -Dr. Seuss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick check in with Jack and Vault 81. For those of you having difficulty following me, this chronologically after Chapter 12

Chapter 20

“Well?”

Christine dug in. Oh. My. God. “Maria Summerset, you are a food goddess.” She scooped another large spoonful into her mouth and closed her eyes, chewing blissfully.

“Well once you explained it to me, it was actually easy to make. As I’ve never eaten Beef Stroganoff before, my food goddess powers were more challenged giving it the correct taste. Making noodles from razorgrain was a new experience, I do admit.”

“Telling her a robot in Diamond City could do it definitely got her feathers ruffled,” her husband smiled. “No one can beat my girl when it comes to cooking.”

“Oh pshaw,” Maria playfully poked him. “You were just happy to sample every experiment. Sometimes I was sure you were giving me incorrect feedback so I would keep trying and you could keep eating!”

The whole crowd laughed.

Most residents of Vault 81 delighted in the General’s visits, rare though they were. She brought caps and unusual items into Alexis’ Depot Store, tools to Calvin the maintenance leader, stories into Katy’s classroom, books to the library she was slowly converting her room into, a steady supply of medicines and supplies to Dr. Forsythe and his assistant Rachel, and plant samples for Dr. Penske to test. The General seemed especially keen to find more sources of seasoning for the foods of the Commonwealth. The vegetables were bland and the meat gamey, she complained. And, she said, she’d have to be on death’s doorstep to ingest 200 year old Cram and Nuka Cola. Maria scowled at her and said Christine was too fussy, but then happily turned to her kitchen to step up her menus. She may be old, the woman declared, but there was no better cook in the Commonwealth. Her husband and Christine strongly agreed.

The General’s latest obsession was challenging the aging chef with meals from her life before Vault 111. Maria had managed to wrangle up many new dishes from Christine’s memories, using only her talents and cooking experience. She was delighted to have the new dishes to add to her café as well. It was boring to keep serving the same food over and over again. Since the day the General had set foot in Vault 81 five years ago, life had become so much more interesting. 

“Can I have some?” Jack pressed his cheek against Christine’s shoulder, his mouth open like a baby bird.

She resisted the overwhelming urge to kiss his sweaty little forehead. He had squirmed through the crowd that inevitably gathered when the General came to test Mrs. Summerset’s cooking, and always managed to find his spot right next to Christine’s elbow. 

Good heavens, Christine thought affectionately, what have you been doing this time to get so grubby? “Ask your mom first.”

“GWWWWWWENNNN! LYYYYYNDAAAAAAAAA! CAN I EEEEEEAT WITH THE GENERAAAAAAL?” he hollered deafeningly, right next to Christine’s ear. She winced.

Lynda poked her head out of Alexis’ store. “Of course. Don’t wear too much of it.” She waved over the balcony at Christine, then disappeared.

“Erin, before you even ask, Yes!” Alexis’ voice floated down to them. Her daughter, who was always at Christine’s other elbow, perked up.

Well at least I won’t be deaf in both ears, Christine thought. 

“THANKS MOM!” Erin belted out. 

Christine sighed. And let’s not forget…

Right on cue, Austin hollered, “GRAN CAN I-“

“Yes, Austin,” Dr. Penske said resignedly from her garden lab. “Don’t spoil your sup-“

“THANKS GRAN!”

And this is why I always leave here deaf as a post, Christine thought wryly. Aloud she said, “Ready?”

“NONONONONO! SPOONS!” 

Mr. Summerset produced a handful with a flourish, and was mobbed by the three anxious contestants.

He grinned. “ReadyGO!”

“Hey-!” Christine began.

Too late. Austin was already reaching over Jack’s head. Erin darted in from the other side of Christine and started scarfing the stroganoff as fast as she could. Jack was making a huge mess, battling his friend’s spoons to get some of the quickly disappearing treat. Austin wolfed his side of the plate clean and started on Erin’s.

“NO FAIR!” she squawked.

Christine managed one mouthful for every four the other kids took. She popped another spoonful into Jack’s mouth, then one for herself. He grinned at her, mouth overflowing.

Six years old already, she smiled. He’s going to be taller than I am.

 

“Jack is a little over three actually,” Dr. Forsythe had proclaimed three years ago to his anxious new moms Lynda and Overseer Gwen McNamara. Christine had shown up at Vault 81 at three o’clock in the morning and given him to them to raise as his own, then left.

“A little undernourished”, he said, “but perfectly healthy. At least he’s already past the ‘Terrible Twos’”.

Lynda looked confused, but Gwen grinned. “Thank you Christine!” she exclaimed fervently. She turned to her perplexed partner. “I’ll explain later.”

Doted on by his mothers, who had never thought they could have a family of their own, he was equally fussed over, and given wide latitude to discover who he was and wanted to be. Christine had been adamant on that point. He needed to learn to be strong enough to make his own choices, she had said. No one should ever decide his life for him.

“But isn’t that what happened to you?” Gwen had asked. 

The reality of Christine’s three lives fascinated Gwen. In her life before the vault, Christine had been a quiet, thoughtful person. She loved music, listening to it, singing, playing on her guitar and piano. She played volleyball, a sport Vault 81 now enjoyed on Saturday afternoons. As captain of her college team, it had been Christine’s job to create, teach, and execute “plays”- plans of movement to confuse the other team while her team scored points. Vault 81 now had a court of their own. It was shaped more like an H than the traditional rectangle, because of the stairs coming down into the atrium. It was the only space large enough to play in. With a few game changes, they made it work. Christine’s rare visits usually coincided with Saturday afternoons, just so she could enjoy a game or two with them.

Lynda especially loved Christine’s previous college studies into Philosophy. Her quick mind allowed her to absorb the theories and definitions, and the two of them spent many lively hours in deep discussion. When they were locked in a debate, Gwen often wandered off to play with her new son and evaluate his development. Christine couldn’t visit that often, so Gwen liked to be able to report on his progress.

Philosophy didn’t catch Gwen’s interest, but Christine’s second life of cryogenic study fascinated her. What was the purpose of it? How was the testing quantified against its damages to Christine and the other victims in Vaults? Since Christine had discovered scientific facilities equal to a vault of its own hidden back behind Gwen’s own Vault 81, the Overseer had felt betrayed by Vault Tec, and made it her personal mission to find out all she could about all of the other Vault experiments in the Commonwealth. So far Christine had been able to share information about one in the south that experimented with an addictive food supplement paste, and another near it that had been theoretically a drug rehabilitation facility. Two more had been located, but not explored yet. Gwen was eagerly awaiting information on them.

Christine had chosen her first life, chosen only part of her second life, but had had no input on her third at all. Her third life was the one she was living now. Released from the cryogenic facilities of Vault 111, Christine had found herself stranded in a nuclear wasteland of dead trees, poisonous food, and dangerous beasts. Everything she had grown up with was gone- her college, her family, bikes, Frisbees, shopping malls, everything. Learning to survive had become her only school lesson. But survive she had. She learned to defend herself, and find food, medicine, and friends. 

In the beginning, Christine had been lost, without a purpose. As she had met others and seen how they were living, she had developed a fierce determination to help make their lives better, and make the Commonwealth a safer place. And she had told Gwen numerous times, she couldn’t do anything to help her own situation, but as she had to have survived the cryogenic experiments and been deposited almost 300 years in her future for some reason, she could and would help others until she discovered what it was. 

“Don’t you want anything for yourself?” Gwen had asked.

“I did once,” Christine had answered sadly.

Gwen’s heart ached for her friend. She knew Christine loved a man that one day, she would have to kill. Christine, this man, and Little Jack had been a family, something so precious and dear to her that even now, she couldn’t speak of it without choking on her tears. The cruelest blow of all was that Christine had had this priceless happiness for less than a day. That was all. The man had been Elder Arthur Maxson, the leader of the Brotherhood of Steel, a man determined to turn Jack into a Brotherhood soldier, and train him to kill the very people Christine fought to save. She would not allow him to choose Jacks life for him. There had been a terrible fight. Christine had been unconscious when Maxson stole the boy away. But she stole him back, and had given her three-year old ‘son’ Jack to Gwen and Lynda to raise as their own. Christine had never interacted with her ‘husband’ again. The boy and the General shared a special affinity, but as per Christine’s wishes, Jack never knew who she really was to him.

Gwen watched Jack trying to spoon food into Christine’s mouth in the café below, from her window in the Overseer’s office.

He will one day, she vowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This vignette was writing itself in my head while I was trying to write what I had intended to be Chapter 20. Maybe now I can concentrate.


	21. Pepper Spray is Probably Not the Best Way to Stop Temper Tantrums.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jun and Christine head to the Corvega factory on a mission to wipe out the raiders. My friend Mai calls the chapter "Dancing On a Swaying Bridge is the Best Way to Find Your Balance."

Chapter 21

“This is a bad idea. Marcy’s going to kill me, you know. What the hell am I doing out here? I only just learned to shoot a gun a couple of weeks ago! I’m going to die, Christine.”

Jun stared at the hunting rifle in his hands. What had he been thinking when he accepted Christine’s quiet invitation to join her? What the hell had she even been thinking to ask him? This was not going to end well.

He sighed. “Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe then Marcy can move on with her life. Maybe she’ll find someone who can protect her. Maybe they’ll have a son-“

Christine cut him off. “Jun don’t you dare! Listen to yourself. You’re already dead and we haven’t even seen the raiders yet! Think happy thoughts. Like the settlers at Ten Pines finally feeling safe. Knowing that when they needed the Minutemen, we came and helped. Think of all the people the raiders at the Corvega factory will go on to kill if we don’t kill them first. People may never even know who protected them and kept them safe, but the Commonwealth is a better place for our efforts. I like to think that because I help to protect the people when they need me, I’m a Minuteman too. And think of how proud Marcy will be, knowing she has a brave, selfless Minuteman for a husband. ”

“But what if I can’t do this? What if I really am a coward, Christine? I’m so scared now. What if I have to… I can’t even imagine killing a person. What if I can’t? Christine, let’s go back. Marcy might not have noticed I left. You can get Preston. He’ll be a big help. I think.”

“What do you mean, ‘you think’?”

Jun kept plodding along, staring at his feet. “Where was he in Quincy when the Minutemen there attacked us? Where was he when my son was killed? Maybe his job was to round up whoever escaped and bring us somewhere and kill us too. He dragged us across the Commonwealth from one dangerous place to another. We could’ve died at any of them. He’s one of them.” 

“No. Never.” Christine was firm in her conviction. “Preston was never one of those fake Minutemen. He believed in the mission of the Minutemen with his whole heart. And despite everything that happened back in Quincy, he still does.”

_____

 

Christine watched the shadows from the dying fire gently caress Preston’s face. Staring at, but not seeing the militia hat he was slowly crushing in his hands, his gentle soul relived the pain over and over again, trying to make sense out of any of it.

“Christine, everywhere I looked, Minutemen were killing people. They murdered men, women, children, everybody. I saw men that I had fought proudly beside to take Quincy from the Gunners, men that had watched my back and kept me alive- they did this horrible thing. Men and women who had shared their short rations with the settlers. Soldiers who had been dedicated to our mission to keep the people of the Commonwealth safe. The same ones who had helped build barricades and plant crops and clear rubble and scrounge supplies to help establish Quincy as a place of safety, these same soldiers-“ he choked, almost unable to go on. “They slaughtered dozens of innocent settlers who trusted them, who looked up to them.” He broke off.

“I looked up to them”, he mumbled miserably. “Ever since I was a child and learned what Minutemen stood for. How could they do that?”

A thousand thoughts flew around in Christine’s head, each clamoring to be heard. Greed. Fear. Change of ideals. Hopelessness. Feeling threatened. Some people just wanted to watch the world burn. Some got off on manipulating or controlling others. Some saw opportunities for destruction. Some had a different vision and enough charisma to convince others to join their crusade. 

“Preston, what’s the mission of the Minutemen?” she asked finally.

He looked up in surprise. “To protect the people of the Commonwealth at a moment’s notice. You know this. Why are you asking?”

“To protect the people of the Commonwealth at a moment’s notice,” she mused. “You know Preston, those Gunners were people of the Commonwealth. Those Minutemen were people of the Commonwealth. Maybe it was you who was being traitorous by not defending them too. If you go by the over-generalized tenets of the Minutemen, every player in the Quincy Massacre was deserving of Minuteman protection.”

Preston’s eyes blazed as he opened and closed his mouth, not even knowing how to respond to her outrageous statement. 

Christine carefully watched his anger grow. “I think there’s more to being a Minuteman than just being willing to protect the people of the Commonwealth at a moment’s notice, Preston. I believe it’s protecting the people from unfair treatment, and to defend the peace they’re trying to build. Being willing to give your life to save others, and just as importantly, do everything you can to help them save themselves. Help settlers come together. Teach them to defend themselves, and the settlement. Show them each person is valuable, and has something unique and equally valuable to share with the settlement, to make it grow and be a place to be proud of, worth defending. It saddens me so much, Preston, that the greatest joy is most people’s lives is finding something to eat, or still being alive at the end of the day. They aren’t living Preston, they’re only surviving. That’s not a life. A true Minuteman wants the world to not only live, but thrive. And on its own two feet, not begging for mercy, kneeling at the feet of some megalomaniacal tyrants like the Gunners, who would unite the Commonwealth as their own, but squash the people to achieve that goal. I believe the Commonwealth can save itself. With help from the Minutemen. And Preston, that’s a huge commitment for a settler who yesterday was trying to just survive.

That kind of dedication needs to be cherished, and worthy of respect. We need to hold ourselves responsible to each fallen Minuteman too, to give like justice for his life. His sacrifice has to mean something. Settlers need to see that. Lives get taken every day. To choose to give your life is a precious thing. To die is your last act on earth. If I’m going to give my life instead of letting it be taken from me, I’m not trading it for some pointless object or selfish whim. But I would give it to save the person next to me.”

She continued, “Minutemen need to reflect on the enemies our fallen would have gone on to kill, and a world they would have made better, if they were still here. We owe it to them to continue the mission, to keep doing what they would have done if they were still alive. I don’t believe any of those false Minutemen honored the deeper convictions of a true Minuteman. They let the Minuteman spirit inside them die. They didn’t believe deeply enough. They weren’t worthy of contemplation on their deaths, or of their lives for that matter. But those brothers and sisters who died trying to bring the survivors to safety? They aren’t dead. They were true Minutemen, and the spirit of a true Minuteman never dies. They’re all right here with us. Minutemen never die. I believe this with my whole heart Preston.”

Preston stared at her, realization dawning in his eyes. “Christine…”

“Never give up, Preston. You can’t. The actions of those few bad Minutemen have left a vile taste in the mouths of the people of the Commonwealth. People don’t see the Minuteman as being a force for good anymore. That has to change. I believe in the Minutemen, and deeper convictions than the words ‘To protect the people of the Commonwealth at a moment’s notice’ currently stand for. You’re the last Minuteman Preston. Don’t let it die. You can make the changes, and give the people real hope by giving them stronger, true Minutemen. That’s what the people of the Commonwealth really need. You. And Minutemen who understand what it truly means to be one.”

_____

 

Christine watched Jun kick a rock out in front of himself as he walked along. Sadness hung from his hunched shoulders like a rain-soaked blanket. He slogged aimlessly on, a hollow man, filled only with self-condemnation. Pain emanated from his soul, so powerful, it cast a shadow of its own, eclipsing Jun’s heart to anything but his own insignificant pointlessness. The black veil wound its life-sucking tendrils around and around his spirit, feeding on Jun’s agony. He had nothing left to fight it with. Nothing to fight for. 

Oh. Christine pulled herself back into check.

Preston was not the person Jun was so angry and disappointed with, she realized sadly. Jun regretted not dying in Quincy, beside his son Kyle. His wife had nothing for him except her own hate and grief and accusations. Jun was a broken man, despised by the one person who could have helped him heal. He was alone. 

No. He was not. 

“Jun, you are resolutely heading directly into danger, despite the fear you feel. Fear is a very real thing out here. It’s important. It keeps you alive. I saw you clench your jaw when your chin was trembling a second ago-“

Jun scowled at her. “You watch too closely. Watch the road so you don’t get us both killed.”

She hid a smile at the spark her comment had generated. “Courage is being afraid, but doing what needs to be done anyway. A brave man doesn’t let his fear stop him. You are not the coward Marcy said you were. She has to deal with things in her own time. Jun, you’re a man choosing to deal with it now. And you are the man for this job. I’m glad to have you with me. I trust you’ll have my back, like Preston tried his damnedest to have yours. And yes, it’s very possible we’ll die. You’ve seen firsthand what the Commonwealth can deal out. It’s crazy and out of control and we’re on our own. No backup. This will not be a cakewalk.”

He glanced up, his brow furrowed.

“But it’s also very possible we’ll succeed,” she said, cutting off the inevitable question. “We can’t choose what’ll be thrown at us on this trip, Jun, any more than we can choose what’ll happen tomorrow or the day after. You couldn’t choose how Marcy or Preston were going to react to what was happening back there, or even how I might today. You can only decide what you’re going to do, Jun. I’ve been so damn lucky so far. For me, I’m going to do my best, and trust you to be right beside me. I’m going to kill those fucking raiders. Every last one, because they can’t hurt the people I care about if they’re dead. I have a job to do. The Commonwealth needs us, Jun. I’m not going to die. I refuse to.”

Jun smiled at Dog cavorting around Christine’s legs. “Preston said you said those exact words before you attacked the Deathclaw.”

“Did he tell you what he said?”

“He said, ‘We all die someday.’ And you said, ‘But not today.’ Is that your war cry?”

Christine grinned. “It would appear so. That and, ‘Oh you did not touch my dog!’”

Jun chuckled.

“So how about you, Jun. We all die someday…”

“But not today, Christine. The Commonwealth needs us.”

_____

 

“Christine, I didn’t shoot a single one.” Jun stared at the rifle in his hands.

He could feel disgust emanating from it. It was a good gun, probably hoping to be used saving millions of innocent lives, then proudly coming to rest in the scabbard of its soldier, full of glorious adventures to recount to his rifle grandchildren. Instead it got him, a man brave enough to point it at an enemy, but not brave enough to pull the trigger.

Christine’s voice interrupted his self-recriminations. “You didn’t need to. There were only three, and they weren’t even paying attention. You were ready though. I saw you right behind me.” She continued to sift through the Gunners belongings. “Kind of nice, coming across these guys on that broken piece of overpass. Good warmup. Did it give you a better idea of how it will feel when we get to the Corvega factory?”

“I guess if getting freaked out is warming me up for getting freaked out on a larger scale, then yes. Did it freak you out? What did you feel?”

“It used to freak me out. Did Cato ever tell you about the first time he saw me, Jun? He startled me and I belted him with a baseball bat before I even saw him.”

Jun smiled. “But now?”

Christine stood up and wiped the blood from the stock of a salvaged gun with her sleeve. “I still want to belt him with a bat sometimes.” 

Jun chuckled.

She giggled. “Just kidding. Well, I’m honestly kind of embarrassed to admit that I get excited. Happy almost. Like something inside of me yells, ‘GO GET’EM!’ and off I go. My brain blasts into over-drive. It feels like I can see everything, and think so fast. I’ll have a hundred ideas and make a thousand decisions in the blink of an eye. It takes a while to wear off. I’m kind of vibrate-y and ready to attack until it does.”

“Oh. Why does it embarrass you?”

“Well…because I should not feel good about killing someone. I’ve taken their life and their future. Me. I took that all away. If it had been a good person that I’d killed, I don’t know if I could forgive myself, but I only kill people or creatures that need their lives and futures stopped. A raider’s life is about killing and torturing, and his future is too, so I’m actually pretty pleased to be a part of stopping that.”

“Do you feel weird taking their stuff?”

“No. Kinda. Sometimes. I have to remind myself these guys are dead and won’t be needing their stuff anymore, but someone back in Sanctuary definitely will. Check that guy over there for ammo. I forgot to.” She stuffed the new acquisitions into her ever-present pack. “Want a drink of water?”

Jun wrinkled his nose and gingerly reached into the dead Gunners’ pocket. “Ugh. No. After I wash my-“

“JUN LONG I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!” Marcy yelled, running down the hill behind them and brandishing her rusty garden shovel. She swung it at him.

Jun yanked his hand away from the dead gunner and leaped up. “Marcy…?” He stared at her in stunned belief.

Preston ran over the rise right behind her. His hands kept clenching and unclenching on his rifle, like he was having trouble not shooting them both. His eyes burned with reprimands.

Christine burst out laughing. “Well you did tell me she’d kill you!”

_____

 

“This is such a bad idea.”

Preston sighed in defeat. Why he let Jun and Christine continue on their mission he didn’t know. Why he agreed to come with them and bring Marcy along was downright confounding. 

No. No it wasn’t. Despite her lack of experience or training, he trusted Christine. Her heart was strong and her determination was nearing the realms of Legendary. She had no fear. And her imagination was frightening. He shook his head remembering how she tossed the frag mine into the road back in Concord, and used his own incredible lack of tactical planning by drawing attention to her, his own ally, to bring the raiders chasing after her, right over her mine. And the Deathclaw! What person in their right mind doesn’t run away from a twelve foot, blood-thirsty, raging beast, but attacks it? But done these things she had, and they had all come out alive, thanks to her courage and unconventional thinking.

Dog leaped up and licked his face.

“Preston, you’ve got to relax. It’ll work.” Christine patted his shoulder, watching him wipe dog slobber off his cheek. “If we charge in there all guns blazing, the raiders will react by doing the same thing. We’re seriously outnumbered. Our best bet is to snipe them off one by one and hope to avoid a full face off. You’re going to have to trust me on this. Jun and Marcy remember, low and slow going from one hiding spot to the next. If you’re stuck and can’t move because an enemy is close enough to see you, take a shot then duck down as fast as you can. Make it the best shot you’ve got, but don’t wait to see if you got him. Preston and I will stay near. We’ll hear your shot and get the raiders attention by firing from where we are. Use the distraction to move to your next spot. Marcy, get into my power armor. It’ll protect you for a little bit. When the fusion core dies, just step out of it and continue on behind Jun. Don’t worry about us. Preston and I will be fine. Got ammo?”

The three nodded.

“Stimpaks?”

Nod.

“Eye of the tiger?”

Jun and Marcy looked confusedly at each other. Preston rolled his eyes.

Christine grinned. “Note to self- don’t bother using that reference again. A good, positive attitude will suffice. Today is not the day we die, my friends. Preston-“

“Combat armor is itchy.” Marcy grumbled, trying to scratch under the chestplate they had scavenged from one of the dead Gunners, with her newly- acquired .10mm pistol.

“Oy! Marcy don’t use the gun for that! You’re going to shoot yourself! And your armors job is to protect you so give it a break.” Christine glared at her.

“This is such a bad idea,” Preston repeated.

Jun reached over to tug the offending armor into a more comfortable spot, but Marcy slapped his hands away.

Christine checked another sigh then resumed her recap. “Preston, you go right, I go left. As soon as we’ve got the raiders attention, Jun you and Marcy sneak in. Look for places that give you a good shot, but keep you hidden. Watch for turrets, make sure no one is behind you. Don’t leave a room until it’s totally cleared. We kill them all. Every single one. Let’s clear off the overpass and snipe from behind those barricades until we clear the exterior guards first. Ready? Follow me. Dog, stay here.”

She scooted over the rubble and onto the broken overpass. Looking back at her determined troops, she grinned. Today is not our day to die

 

Feral ghouls erupts from the buildings adjacent to the overpass as they crested the ramp. God there must be a dozen of them, Christine thought as she snapped the laser rifle to her eye and sent blast after blast into the ragged, moaning mass. Preston dropped to his knee beside her, firing with the almost inhuman precision that had kept the refugees safe in the Museum of Liberty in Concord. 

Damn that man can shoot! Christine thought in the back of her mind.

Gunfire burst from her other side. Jun had stepped in front of his petrified wife without hesitation, and was firing into the melee to protect her! Christine couldn’t believe it! He had felt empty and useless less than an hour ago, now he stood tall and confident, shielding the woman he loved! Marcy was cowering behind her husband, despite being clad in what was basically a bulletproof suit, trusting him to keep her safe. This would go a long way to reconcile the Longs, Christine smiled as she continued to thin the feral hoard. She was so proud of him!

The ghouls continue to drop under their relentless volley until there were no more. As the four surveyed the victims of their victory, bullets suddenly began raining down from the catwalks of the Corvega factory. They dashed to the protection of the barricade. 

“AW MAN, COME BACK! I WAS HAVIN FUN!”

“THIS AIN’T MY FIRST GUNFIGHT ROOKIE!”

Christine leaned around the side of the makeshift wall. “Ain’t mine either, asshole!” She let loose a vicious burst of laser fire.

Preston grabbed the back of her belt and yanked her back around. “What the hell are you doing?! You’re going to get killed! What were you thinking?!”

She grinned at him. “Two or three firing from the catwalks, two and a turret by the front door, another running from up the street, and maybe two more behind him.”

Jun, Marcy, and Preston stared at her in surprise. She shrugged unapologetically. “I don’t think any are snipers. They all seem to be just blasting away. Preston close your mouth. You could catch a blowfly in there.”

He clamped his mouth shut. “We are going to talk about your choices later. Now behave, or I’m telling Cato.”

She grimaced at him.

Gunfire clipped the makeshift wooden wall they were huddled behind.

“And now they know exactly where we are!” Marcy had hunkered down as far as her power armor would let her and hissed at Christine.

Marcy had had enough. Enough ferals, enough getting attacked, enough itchy armor, enough everything. She was terrified and angry and just wanted to go home. “Why are we even here?” she snapped. “I’m going back to Sanctuary, Jun, and you’re coming with me. Let those settlers take care of their own problems!”

Jun considered her thoughtfully for a moment, then reached for her metal gauntlet and patted it soothingly. “Marcy, we’re Minutemen, and those people asked for our help. We’re going to take out every single raider in there, so that little settlement will be safe. We’re Minutemen, Marcy,” he reiterated. “And that’s what we do. We help people.” 

Preston’s mouth dropped open again, and a huge smile burst onto Christine’s face.

Who are you and what have you done to our old Jun?! she thought delightedly. Damn! If Marcy doesn’t rip his clothes off when we get back, I just might!

Preston interrupted her exultant thoughts in his usual calm fashion. “Maybe we need a diversion. I can shoot the raiders while they’re distracted, then once they’re cleared, we can sneak in and take out the ones inside.”

“Diversion,” Christine mused as she surveyed the debris around them. A slow smile curled across her face.

God I hate it when she smiles like that, Preston thought warily.

But Christine was already in motion. “Jun, help me drag that old highway sign over onto that cement thingy. Marcy, can you climb onto that car? Preston, get into position. We’re going to seriously distract those raiders. Move and shake people, move and shake.”

“Christine-“, Preston began.

She patted his shoulder on her way past. “Trust me, Minuteman. This will be the stuff of legends. Get into position. And try to take out that turret, and those guys on the catwalks early.”

 

SLABLANG! A feral carcass sailed over the barricade and crashed into the wall above the door to the Corvega factory.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?”

BAMBAMBAM!

Christine heard an explosion. 

“Turret. Took out the raider next to it too.” Preston called out with satisfaction. “Keep ’em coming guys.”

Jun dragged another feral corpse onto the sign while Christine helped Marcy back onto the roof of the derelict car.

“Ready,” Jun said. 

Marcy leaped, the whole weight of her power armor landing forcefully on the other end of the sign, and another dead body catapulted through the air toward the dumbfounded raiders.

BAMBAM…BAM!

“Two by the door. Give them another.”

Jun, Marcy, and Christine grinned at each other like little kids eating mudpies, and lined up another corpse.

Marcy leaped. SLABLANG! 

A third dead feral arched through the air.

“WHAT IN FUCKING HELL…!!!”

BAM! BAM!

“Damn. Only one. How many ferals do we have left?”

“Plenty, Preston. Keep shooting.”

Marcy giggled from her perch atop the rusty wreck. “I like being a Minuteman!” She jumped.

SLABLANG!

Jun watched his wife’s delight affectionately. She glanced at him as Christine helped her climb back up onto the roof of the old junker. With her eyes twinkling with mischief, and her happy smile, Marcy looked just like she had when he had first laid eyes upon her, teaching at the little school in Quincy. Her eyes had been bright, and sparkling with pleasure as she admired a little girl’s drawing. The happiness she exuded as she had pushed a small boy on a swing had echoed in her every move. She had looked up to see him standing there with open admiration on this face. Their eyes met, and she had looked away, blushing. Three months later, they were married. She had been sparkling and blushing and happy their whole life together, too. She was jubilant when Kyle had been born. Children were rare in the Wasteland. Their son was perfect and healthy and beautiful. The little family had lived happily and safely in Quincy, thriving, sharing, and helping other families get a good start. They had even adopted Mama Murphy, an eccentric old woman with no family of her own. Mama Murphy became akin to a grandmother to young Kyle, reading him stories and playing with the young child. She had even fashioned a kind of whistle from old Jet inhalers for him. Kyle had marched around on his sturdy little toddler legs, driving them all crazy with the shrill squalling that constantly emanated from his treasured toy.

Then, the Minutemen of Quincy had allied with the Gunners. 

The sounds of screaming, and the destruction of their peaceful little town had driven Jun and Marcy hurriedly to the window of their little store to see what was happening. Automatic gunfire had blanketed the building. Jun had pushed Marcy to safety, but two bullets embedded themselves into his arm. Another had grazed his forehead, leaving a trail shallow enough to miss damaging the bone, but deep enough to leave blood dripping down the side of his face. 

Racing upstairs to their son, they had burst into the apartment to see Mama Murphy lying in a bloody, unconscious heap against the wall. Richard, a trusted friend, and member of the peacekeeping Minutemen, dragged their wailing son Kyle by the hair to the door and kicked it shut in their faces. They screamed and begged and pounded on the door, but it was locked tightly. Richards laughter reverberated through the walls, a frightening, deep counterpoint to Kyles terrified screams. Then the laughing stopped. Jun and Marcy listened in helpless horror as their beloved son’s scream abruptly ended in a squelching gurgle. Something small and unmoving hit the wall.

The door blasted open. Richard kicked Marcy in the face and slammed Jun’s face with the butt of his shotgun. They tumbled bonelessly backwards down the stairs, coming to rest in an insensible tangle at the bottom. Richard kicked the unresisting bodies out of his way, and disappeared out the door, into the bloody chaos that would later come to be called the Quincy Massacre.

They were groggy and disoriented as Preston and another Minuteman half-carried them through the ruins of the old Super Duper Mart and out through a hole in the back wall. Another Minuteman supported Mama Murphy as she struggled to keep up, refusing to let anyone else carry the blood-soaked bundle of blankets in her arms. They escaped into the night, giving the dying town a wide berth, slogging through the surrounding swamp. 

At a small campground, they stopped to rest and meet up with the last two faithful Minutemen, and the scant handful of settlers they had been able to save. 

They buried little Kyle in the bundle of blankets Mama Murphy had carried his body away from the massacre in. Then Jun had turned his wife’s numb, unresisting body away from the small grave, and guided her carefully through the hostile Commonwealth. As the refugees flight took them further and further from her son’s grave, Jun watched his wife’s numb silence morph into a blinding hatred for him, and everything around them. And his heart, already so overburdened, broke.

“What’s taking you so long, Minuteman?” Marcy teased from her perch on the roof of the car. “Get me another feral to fling!”

Jun grinned at his wife. “With pleasure Madame! One fresh, flinging feral, coming right up!” 

_____

 

“That was almost anti-climactic, wasn’t it?” Marcy stopped to lean back and stretch her back. “There weren’t many raiders inside Corvega at all, and only two turrets and two ferals. What’s going to happen to my power armor?”

Preston watched Christine with concern. She was slogging along tiredly, laser rifle held loosely in her slack hands. When she was fighting, or well, doing anything at all with her usual, fierce determination, energy radiated from her like a mobile explosion. She glowed and fought with a mesmerizing ferocity. She was a catalytic personality, bringing out strength and confidence in everyone around her. Fighting alongside her was like watching the sun rise. Her warmth galvanized him to see every mistake as a good lesson, and make every shot better than the last. When the challenge was completed though, the adrenaline spiking her system dissipated, leaving her alert, but exhausted.

“It doesn’t have a power core to drive it, so unless someone happens to come across it with a spare power core in his pocket, it’ll just stay there until we come back and get it ourselves. Dog! Get back here!” Christine smiled tiredly at Marcy. “We’ll make that a priority as soon as we get back to Sanctuary.”

Marcy nodded in acceptance. “I like my power armor. We should all…“ She froze. “What was that?”

They all stopped, listening intently.

“…wasn’t personal. It wasn’t your fault. You did what you had to do…” A man’s deep, rich voice, burdened with a profound sorrow, carried quietly to their straining ears.

“…knew we couldn’t keep doing this forever. It was only a matter of time until they found us and either dragged us back or killed us.”

Preston motioned for the others to wait, then silently crept closer toward the unseen speaker’s voice, Dog at his heels.

“…I’m so sorry, little brother. But I think you’re the lucky one. I hope I join you soon.” Marcy, Jun, and Christine heard the sound of someone rise heavily from the ground and brush off their hands. “You can come out now,” he called loudly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Christine motioned for the Longs to stay put, then stepped out from the protective cover of the trees. 

It the lilting glow of an oil lantern, she saw she was standing in a small graveyard. There were three weed-covered mounds, and one with fresh dirt packed down. Standing in the shadows beside it was… a giant.

The man was well over six feet tall, maybe six-ten or even seven feet tall, and built like a football linebacker. Not an ounce looked to be fat. Thick, heavy muscles strained the sleeves of his shirt. His legs were long and sturdy. He held a military beret in one hand. The other rested with easy competence on his gauss rifle. His uniform marked him as a-

“GUNNER!” Marcy shrieked, lunging at him from the bushes. She threw herself at him, hitting and kicking and scratching with all her strength.

The giant let his gun and cap fall to the dusty ground, and patiently stood, absorbing the blows from the furious woman. He made no move to hit back, or even defend himself. His sad eyes travelled from the crying, spitting hellcat in front of him, to Christine.

“Ma’am.” He said politely. He grunted as Marcy connected with a tender spot.

She said nothing, just continued to watch him carefully trying to protect his most vulnerable parts without hurting Marcy.

“Jun,” she said finally, “please take Marcy away. I want to talk to this man. If I don’t like what I hear, she can have him back.”

The man suppressed a tiny smile.

To her surprise, Marcy took a step back from the man herself. Panting, she drew herself up to her full height of five foot three, and glared up at him venomously. “Don’t bother Jun. I’m staying right here.” She moved to Christine’s side and stood with her feet spread and arms crossed tightly across her chest. 

If looks could kill, Christine thought, this man would be nailed to the ground with all four limbs cut off with a dull spoon and his chest flayed open and covered with starving radscorpions.

“What’s your name?” she asked evenly.

“Mike Beckett.” He sighed heavily. “And before you ask, yes I was a Gunner. And a very good one-“

Marcy snarled.

Christine laid a restraining hand on her friend’s arm. “Mike, Jun is going to take your gun. Don’t stop him. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“No Christine.” Jun moved into the light. “I want him to reach for it so I can blow his head off. I can wait all night, if I need to.”

Christine considered him for a moment. “Fair enough.” 

She turned back to the huge man. “Mike Beckett, you said ‘I was a Gunner’, not ‘I am a Gunner.’ Please explain this to me.”

Mike rubbed his face tiredly. “What exactly do you want from me, ma’am? I was born pretty far up north from here. Father was a half-crazed trapper, mother died giving birth to my little brother. I took him with me, trying to find a place to settle, and finally ended up here. Sold myself to the Gunners to be able to feed us. I’m a damn good shot and pretty good fighter, so it seemed like a good fit. It was fine for a while. I was paid to kill men who had killed someone’s family, or someone who sold their son to slavers, people like that. Then I was sent to Quincy to join the fighting there. Something about a corrupt Minuteman. I liked the concept of the Minuteman. Would have probably joined if they paid anything, so stopping a corrupt one sounded good to me. When I got to Quincy, I saw Gunners and Minutemen alike raping women, killing children, burning homes with the people still in them. I knew I was in the wrong place, and doing the wrong damn thing. So I ran. Grabbed my little brother and headed back north. This is as far as we got before one of the bastards put a slug in Matty.” He gestured toward the fresh grave, his hand hanging in the air over it almost lovingly.

The gesture was so sweet, and so full of pain. Christine watched the big man stare at the grave beneath his hand. Through his eyes, she looked down his arm to his hand ruffling the hair of his young brother. Putting an encouraging hand on his brother’s shoulder. Handing him a tool. A can of water. Grabbing him by the arm and pulling him behind himself. Slowly pressing the dirt on his brother’s grave. 

She swallowed the thickening in her throat.

Mike dropped his hand to his side. “So, if you decide to let me go, I’m going to kill the bastards that killed my little brother. Then I’m going to try and follow a radio beacon I heard to a safe settlement north of here. If they’ll have me. It’s called Sanctuary. Fitting name. I wish we could have found it together…” he trailed off, swallowing heavily. 

“But it’s just me now. Matty would have wanted me to go there. Help build a house or fix up a turret or something. Something to make up for what I …I was. I was a part of. Maybe I can plant something. Matty wanted to plant things. I’ll do that. He’d been happy with that.”

Christine stood there, watching Beckett staring at his feet, his head bowed. 

“What makes you angry, Mike?”

His head snapped up, eyes searching hers in confusion. “What?”

“I asked what makes you angry. Supermutants not feeding their dogs? Gunners wasting ammo because they’re too lazy to train properly? Dirty underwear? Burnt toast?”

“Ma’am I… I…”

“Long hard day of slogging in the rain with a bunch of idiots who don’t care about what they’re doing? Some dog digging up Matty’s grave? This asshole who’s always on you case calling your wife a fat fucking whore?”

Mike’s eyes blazed. Christine pressed on relentlessly.

“Pick up your fucking gun, Beckett, because I’m about to kick this dirt off your stupid lazy fucking asshole of a brother, then piss on it myself.”

She held up her hand at Jun, noting his alarmed, confused expression. “Don’t. He can grab it if he wants to. He’s mine now.”

Jun held up both hands and backed away. Marcy watched, narrowing her eyes.

Christine turned back to Mike. “Good thing the little fucker’s dead. Wouldn’t want him to see me piss on his own forehead. And anyone marrying you would have to be a fat fucking whore. Who’d want to be seen with a killer who runs away when the job gets ugly. Dumb fuck.” She pulled her laser rifle around, holding it ready for a hipfire. “Pull it out, you sick fucker.”

Mike stared at her, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

She watched the emotions playing across his face- anger, confusion, disgust. Hope dying. Deep, deep sadness. He turned around and walked away.

“Shoot me if you want to, Ma’am. I don’t really care anymore.”

Christine smiled. Ignoring Jun and Marcy’s shocked faces, she shot once into the ground on Beckett’s right. He froze.

She fired to his left. He didn’t move a muscle.

“Stay close, Preston,” she whispered to the shadows behind her. “I might still need you.”

She handed Marcy her rifle and jogged down to where Mike stood immobile. She stood squarely in front of him. He eyed her warily as she stepped closer, into his personal space. 

“Well?”

Mike slowly held his hands up in surrender and took a step back. He swallowed again. 

“Did I pass?” he whispered.

Christine stared at him a moment longer, then she grimaced with embarrassment. “You are most definitely Minuteman material, Mike. No pay, but a safe place to call home, and friends worth dying for. You know I didn’t mean a single word of what I said, and I’m frankly ashamed that I could even make myself say such horrible things, right? But I had to provoke you.”

“I was kind of shocked you could say them too, Ma’am.”

“CHRISTINE!” Preston thundered, running toward her from the tree line.

She made a wry face. “Oh boy. That would be my own personal Jiminy Cricket on the warpath.”

“Who?”

Preston stormed up to her, breathing heavily. “We are going to have a talk about this, Christine. WITH Cato.”

She sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beefy chapter, fun as heck to write. I'm not fond of how many of the characters in Fallout 4 are so shallowly touched upon, then discarded as their purpose is done. There's fun to be had here.
> 
> 500+ hits is amazing! Thank you! Now leave me some comments, damn it! What you liked, didn't like, want to see, anything. I'm trying very hard to learn here, guys, and can't do it without feedback!


	22. Our fate lives within us...You only have to be brave enough to see it.  -Meridia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine struggles with becoming the General. The battle for the Castle

Chapter 22  
Cold industrial metal softened in the fading glow of lights so old they seemed to startle at their age, flickering as the astounding revelation sparked through their dusty minds. Dimly remembering its own purpose, the dull, cracked linoleum floor absorbed her quiet footfalls as she passed. Pipes rose above her head in a dusky bower, blossoming with valves, fixtures, and joints.

The dark of the Vault had once been frightening to Christine. As she had slowly loosened her death grip on the faltering light, and accepted the dark’s companionable welcome, the shadows gently enveloped her, sharing with her a soft, quiet cocoon to sort through her thoughts in. If she needed to scream, the darkness dampened the echoes, so they would not steal one cathartic release from the next. Darkness gave her a close, intimate friend to confide her fears to, a non-judgmental listener to her self- doubts. The darkness lovingly stroked her hair as she knelt at its feet to cry in peace, fighting to reconcile herself with all the killing she had to do. She sent dozens to their graves almost every day.

Tonight it offered her comfort as she cried, curled in a ball on the cushioned bed of her cryopod. She and grandmother darkness had removed the broken shell, leaving behind a shadowed cup to hide in, a sanctuary of isolation where her tears could run their course. Tender, misty hands swaddled the darkness around her, giving her a comforting blanket to hide her head under until she found her peace.

“So now they want to make you their leader. Their General.” 

Christine snapped off a shot in four different directions. Poised in the crouch she had instinctively rolled to upon hearing the voice, she waited, listening intently, straining to hear breathing, or a movement that would give away her enemy’s position. The silence stretched on, undisturbed.

She lowered her gun.

Had she even heard someone speak? Or had it been an escapee of her struggling, confused mind giving voice, protesting the boundaries of her skull. Was the fight in her head more real than her throbbing brain could handle? 

Maybe that was it. She had been down here a dozen times before with no intrusions, each time trying to untangle her fears from the moral confusion of her prewar mind, as it succumbed to the necessities of living in this terrifying new world. The stress of making decisions that impacted so many trusting people needed relief.

She had to be strong and fearless for the people above. They needed her strength. It encouraged them to find it in themselves. Small pools of peace were emerging in this wild, uncivilized, irradiated Hell. She had helped create these havens of safety, protected by her Minutemen. Places where settlers built homes, planted crops, and helped their new neighbors trade a life of barely surviving, to one of hope. She had unwaveringly eradicated bugs, mutants, and humans alike, fighting to clear promising spots for settlements. She had organized teams to build water purifiers, homes, and barns, and install defenses to give each colony the best chance possible of succeeding. She had planned provisioner routes to trade and distribute needed supplies, intertwined with Minuteman patrols for extra protection. She had been their leader in every way but the title anyway. 

Allowing them to officially turn to her for direction, meant sole responsibility. Their fears and frustrations would be hers to comfort and avenge. Their hope would be hers to protect. Their world would be hers to build. But her mistakes would be theirs, and their trust could cost them their lives, their futures. It was duty, it was obligation, it was authority.

It was frightening. Every uncertainty she had ever had, had come clawing to the surface, shouting their condemnation in her face, until she wasn’t sure she could even tie her own shoes correctly without causing someone’s death.

And her doubts and fears could not be witnessed, or allowed to falter the burgeoning confidence of the settlers. The stillness of the Vault had given her the asylum she needed. Her solitude here was absolute.

Now someone had invaded her quiet sanctum, her refuge. Moments ticked by as she waited. Quietly she broke the silence. 

“Are you here to kill me?”

Dark laughter floated around the room. “Kill you? After all I went through to save you?”

His voice was low, harsh, sardonic. It caressed her like a sweater on a cold day, but rough and in a color she didn’t like. 

“Save me? How did you save me?”

Again, the brief bark of laughter. “How do you think you got out of your icebox? Karma? Serendipity? God? You cry about the number of people you kill? Add everyone in this vault to that. The power here was failing, so I diverted everything to you, until I could read enough technical information in these terminals to let you out. Without power, everyone else’s cryopods stopped functioning. I was about to break the cover of your little refrigerator myself when your leg kicked through. How to reverse the cryogenic process was easy to find. It wasn’t in the notes anywhere, how to actually open your case.”

He paused. “I’m sorry about that,” he admitted quietly.

Wanting to find where he was hiding warred heavily with her need to hear more. If she could keep him taking, maybe she could get both.

“How long have you been down here?”

“Years. Years, while you slept. Plus three months to the day, since you awoke. Happy Anniversary, by the way.”

Christine’s head swam. “Years?” she asked faintly. She gathered her scattered wits. “Are you Vault Tec? Are you a scientist?”

Again the rough, mirthless laugh. 

She persisted. “How did you find the Vault? Why are you here? Are you a scavenger or gunner or something? What do you want from me? If you need a safe place to live, there are at least three settlements that have proven themselves quite competent in fending off enemy attacks and taking care of themselves. I can escort you to one, if you’d like.” Her senses continued to scan, fruitlessly trying to locate her mysterious visitor’s hiding place.

She could hear the amusement in his voice, as he rightfully guessed what she was doing. “You can’t find me, Christine.”

She waited silently.

Nothing.

Christine stood. Walking to the very desk she had cleared exactly three months ago, by throwing everything on it at a radroach, she laid down her gun. Then, she removed her clothes.

She heard his sharp intake of breath.

Naked and unarmed, she lazily walked to the bed and sat. “I don’t have to find you. You’re going to find me.” 

___

 

“Hey! Jeez Preston!”

Beer slopped on the General’s shoulder as the jubilant Minutemen toasted to their success again.

“See? I told you you were the one for the job!” Preston slurred. He pointed his finger at Christine’s face, almost poking her in the eye. “You ARE our General. I told you you would lead us to clear out the Castle. I told you we could get Radio Freedom up and running. You are the General. I knew it was you.” He waved his coffee mug in the air, sloshing beer on himself, Christine, and two Minutemen sitting across the table. “To the General!”

“TO THE GENERAL!” More beer rained down as a cracked bowl, a beaker, a pitcher, a coffee mug, two beer bottles, and a shoe shot unsteadily into the air.

“To me!” Christine echoed. “God I’m an idiot.” 

She returned Preston’s wet favor as she waved her beaker in the air. “And to you idiots for believing in me! Elizabeth! Stop drinking out of that damned shoe! You’re grossing the General out!”

“You won’t let me drink out of the oil can, you won’t let me drink out of the artillery casing, and you won’t let me drink out of my shoe… You are one damned bossy General. What am I allowed to drink out of? Not a lot of choices lying around.”

Tivo and Darren grabbed the table, as Marko, a tall, lanky man with blond hair and a fearsome mustache, pushed himself back, almost knocking it over. He bowed, staggering only a little, and extended a gallant hand to the disgruntled woman. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said in a terrible Mr. Handy accent, “may I offer my assistance in locating a suitable drinking vessel?” 

She giggled and stood, offering a curtsy in return. Or at least Christine was pretty sure it was meant to be a curtsy, even though Elizabeth ended up on her backside on the stone floor.

“You may,” she said grandly, not bothered in the least by her impromptu seat. Marko helped the plump woman to her feet, and staggering, the two made their way down the stone corridor.

“Hey look! An oven mitt.” Marko’s voice came floating down the hall.

“It’ll leak!” bellowed Jim Bernard from his seat next to Christine She clamped her hands to her ears.

“Damn it. How about this frying pan?”

“It’s all dirty.” Elizabeth sounded revolted.

“Like your shoe wasn’t?”

“It’s a different kind of dirt.”

Their voices became more indistinct as Marko and Elizabeth continued their wander through the Castle.

Darren liberally baptized their table trying to pour whiskey into the mirelurk eggshells they had dubbed 'The Goblets of Victorious Death', once Christine had finished a convoluted explanation for her comment about drinking the blood of their enemies. The concept had delighted her pickled compatriots. They had plowed through nest after nest in their drunken hunt for the perfect eggshells.

“To the Minutemen!” he bellowed.

“TO THE MINUTEMEN!”

Christine downed her fourth eggshell of the one hundred proof Blood of her Enemies, then leaned back, smiling like a fool as she closed her eyes and relived the Minutemen’s magnificent victory over a queen mirelurk to retake The Castle.

Long ago, the compound had been Fort Independence, relic of a previous war, and a busy tourist attraction. Losing only two walls, it had survived the nuclear apocalypse, and become home to the first Commonwealth Minutemen. Preston had told her story after story about the thriving bastion of peace it had been. 

People young and old had flocked to the Castle, for protection, and to train. The previous General had created Radio Freedom, a station to coordinate the efforts of the Minutemen around the Commonwealth. Runners would arrive with news of attacks at small satellite settlements, and a call for help would be issued to any Minutemen in range to investigate and solve the problem if possible. Artillery attacks from the Castle had been coordinated to eliminate larger pockets of enemies. The Castle had become a clearinghouse for food and supplies. It was a beacon to the people, to show that they weren’t alone in their struggle to survive. Mutants, gunners, and raiders now felt an intense resistance to their depredations. The Minutemen had become the living embodiment of peace.

Then greed and infighting had caused the Minutemen to collapse. Unable to defend Fort Independence, it became a mirelurk breeding ground, packed with the deadly beasts and their egg clutches.

Time and time again, the few remaining Minutemen had attempted to drive the mirelurks out, but the deaths of the brave soldiers took their toll, until only a small contingent remained. These surviving Minutemen had regrouped in Quincy, their mission again to create a place of peace in the Commonwealth, but the dream had disintegrated there as well.

Preston believed the loss of the Castle and its radio station had been the beginning of the end for the Minutemen. He also believed just as strongly that retaking the Castle would give the Minutemen the impetus needed to resuscitate itself. And Preston knew with all of his heart that Christine was the one to lead the Minutemen to their re-birth. He felt this as surely as he felt the gun in his hands.

Christine herself had been unsure, but the determination and belief shining from the tiny group of Minutemen gathered for the battle for the Castle had convinced her to accept the calling.

She had considered all the ideas for attack offered by the resolute soldiers, then from them had created one of her own. She had divided the soldiers into groups of two- one person attacking, one person defending. Advance together, don’t rush, clear out everything you can before moving on, and if one of your team falls, get your butt to the nearest team and pick up where you left off. Clear the ramparts, then fire down into the courtyard from your positions above. The General’s plan had worked amazingly well, with only minor injuries, and no loss of life. 

Then a queen mirelurk had erupted from the muddy shallows. 

Spitting gouts of slimy, caustic fluid, the huge crustacean had advanced with surprising speed, causing the Minutemen to flee to safety. Their former positions on the battlements had instantly become useless against her height. The distance her spit could project had caused them to helplessly cower in the rampart bastions, unable to run. Liquid acid blasted their hiding place with the force of a firehose, the stone splintering and dissolving. Droplets splattered the brave group. Burned, bleeding, and trapped, the last Minutemen faced the end. The end of themselves, but even more profoundly, the end of the hope that was the Minutemen.

From her place in the courtyard, Christine had helplessly watched the queen mirelurk attack her courageous soldiers. She had fired again and again at the towering beast, but it took no notice of her. It was focused with dreadful intensity on the destruction of her pitifully small force.

Blang! She almost knocked herself over as she went to wipe away her frustrated tears, and her power armored hand hit her helmet. Damn power armor. Can’t even scratch your…

Power armor…

Ooooooooo… Cato is going to kill me.

Christine ran directly at the queen, ramming her power armored body into its soft, unprotected underbelly with every ounce of force and courage she had. The angry queen rocked to a halt, and gave her full attention to this new threat. 

Acid blasted down on Christine from above. Her armor smoking and melting, she continued to strike and drive her body into the weakening queen. She had to give her people enough time to get the hell out of there. The Minutemen had to live on. She wouldn’t be there to see it, but Preston would make sure they would keep on trying, she knew it. Today was indeed her day to die. She was sure as hell going to make this worth it, she thought, driving herself into the queen’s tattered belly again.

But the Minutemen did not run. Instead of using Christine’s distraction to flee the Castle, the Minutemen opened fire on the queen mirelurk. Nine guns blazed in a concentrated attack. Plates of mirelurk shell scattered into the blue afternoon sky, and their bullets bit deeply into the queen’s vulnerable flesh.

It was too much. The queen gave a final bellow, and her lifeless bulk collapsed.

Right onto Christine.

It took the collective effort of every single Minuteman to haul the steaming carcass off of her.

“How is it that all of these big monsters fall on me?” she grumped as Preston and Darren struggled to wrestle off her ruined power armor. 

Preston snorted. “Well it might have something to do with you attacking them. Next time, try something from the side, or from a distance, instead of attacking them head-on. We really need to talk about your style, General.”

___

One of the only three sober Minutemen, young Corporal Craig Finette was delighted with his new job as the voice of the Minutemen. His voice was strong, smooth, and authoritative. His mom and girlfriend said so. They had also said he should go to Diamond City and replace the current announcer Travis. That guy was terrible. His voice was cracked, pitchy and uneven as he tried to share news and introduce songs. And Craig would have gone, if Preston Garvey hadn’t sounded the call for any remaining Minutemen to meet for an attack on the Castle. His dad had died two years ago in the last failed attempt. But Craig felt something, something inside that told him THIS time, it was going to work. The Minutemen were going to win.  
Sitting in front of the radio equipment, his father’s uniform scorched and ragged from the queen mirelurk’s rage, he had never been so happy. Or so proud. He was the voice of the Minutemen. 

“It’s 3am Commonwealth. Nothing to report, just the way we like it.”

 

Christine woke as she felt strong arms lift her. She giggled.

“I can walk. Sort of. Put me down, Preston. Darren. Whoever. Just don’t let me crash into a wall, ‘kay?” She giggled again sleepily.

She felt her feet gently bobbing as she was carried along. Bob, bob, bob, bob, bob, bob, bob...

She woke again as she was being laid in her bunk. A threadbare blanket gently settled on her body.

“Thank you,” she mumbled drowsily. “G’night.”

“Goodnight Christine,” a low, rough voice said softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go Hanz. Short chapter, but I don't think it needed to be longer. Looking for feedback, guys!


	23. ...Where You Least Expect Them...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine finds another clue to the mystery of her Vault 111 visitor. Rob MacCready isn't sure if his new employer is an angel or Satan.

Chapter 23

His head snapped up as the thick wire fence protecting the entrance pad to the Vault shrieked and scraped, torturously announcing the arrival of a visitor. Setting the assault rifle he had been modifying onto the desk in from of him, he smiled and stretched his tired back. The gun was taking more time than he had planned, but the finished product would be worth it. It would make her smile.

The terminal in front of him beckoned like an old friend, inviting him to settle back and observe the woman, the comfortable continuation of what they had been doing together for years. She was a fascinating creature. Sometimes the woman belted out songs he had never heard the likes of before, into the bulbous end of a security baton. She would shimmy and dance around the Vault, pointing at her reflection in the mirror, or throwing out her arms and singing brazenly at some lucky locker. Sometimes she sat on a bed, with a broom reaching from her lap to her outstretched hand, and twiddled her fingers against the wooden shaft while crooning some slow song about love. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear the faint echoes of her lullaby, and his mind calmed.

Sometimes she stomped and kicked things, or buried her face in a musty pillow and screamed until she was limp, and gasping for breath, like he knew she must after her lover... He felt himself stir at the thought.

Mostly she came down here to cry. Great, wracking sobs, moaning her pain as the Commonwealth changed her from the sweet, frightened, confused girl who woke from a world of libraries and music and letters from her family, to the cold master of a dead world, killing to protect, destroying to rebuild.

Lately, her suffering had become silent. He had watched her body, curled in a fetal position in her pod, contract and shake as great soundless sobs welled through her body, then loosen so she could drag in another ragged gulp of air, and begin the cycle again. 

When she cried, his feelings of guilt and self-hate would rise, suffocating him until he wished with all of his heart he could have crawled into her cryopod, and died with her as the power failed.

He was a bad man. He knew this. His life had been one of killing, bringing fear and suffering to people whose only crime was to be the target of someone else’s anger, or need. The only joy that had ever been truly his, had been stolen from him long ago, before he had even realized that that’s what joy felt like. 

Then he saw her. First, as words in the journals and scientific entries found as he had studied the layout of the Vault, then in person, a body frozen for hundreds of years, waiting patiently for a world of miracles. Instead, he had woken Christine to Hell. 

He hadn’t meant to. He would have been content to spend the rest of his days down here, with her safely asleep in her little pod, and him peacefully puttering around. Nothing could harm her here. No raiders, or gunners, or mutants, or assassins could intrude into their inviolate fortress. The occasional radroach that wandered in could only batter itself pointlessly against her protective case, yearning to reach her, just as he did. 

He had spent hours, days, staring down at her serene face, his finger running gently across the clear Plexiglas cover above her cheek, her jaw, her neck. Her body. It was not his imagination that saw the tiny smile hiding at the very corner of her lips. He wondered what her last thoughts had been to leave that little twinkle. Had someone made her laugh as she was going under? Or was she happy to be leaving something behind, something that her time in cryostasis would erase. What kind of person was she, that she would choose to be part of such a potentially deadly experiment? He wanted desperately for her eyes to open, so he could see for himself. 

But she had been safe in there. Until the one thing he couldn’t control or kill threatened to take her from him forever. The power had begun to fail. As lights flickered, and the low level auxiliary power had grumbled to life, he realized his only choices had become to watch her die in her frozen coffin, or release her. He still wasn’t sure if he had made the right choice.

He ignored the terminal, and turned up the audio feed.

She was whistling. The smile on his face broadened. 

Thump. “OOOF!” Giggle. Footsteps resumed.

Hmmm. She was carrying something heavy.

“Honey! I’m home!” she yelled out. He chuckled.

FUUMPF. Something soft and weighty hit the floor. She squawked as she apparently went down with it.

Sounds of her struggling. Some good-natured griping. Indeterminate gentle noises as she pushed the soft thing around. 

“Back in a sec.” Footsteps receding. 

What on earth was she up to? He resisted an overwhelming urge to flip on the video feed, and settled back to listen again, his hands firmly clasped across his stomach.

Hmmm. Okay, now she’s dragging something. Pretty heavy, by the sounds of her breathi-

“Awww come on!” she panted. “Come help me bring this stuff in. I promise not to look at you.”

He chuckled again. “Nope. No way.”

Grumbling. More grunting as she moved the whatever-it-was around until it was where she wanted it. Her footsteps quieted as she left him again.

He waited.

He heard the faint sounds of her begin another laborious trip back to him. Dragging another heavy thing… wrestling it into place… leaving. 

His brow furrowed in concern. She’s not talking. Irritated with him, or just out of breath?

Ahhh. Here she comes. Carrying something…heavy. It clumped as she dropped it into place. 

“So what do I call you?” She breathed heavily through her nose, trying to control her breathing. “Can you at least give me your name? Maybe I should make one up for you. I’ve got a few running around in my head right now. Yeah, it’d be really easy to call you one of those right now.”

Her footsteps faded back down the hallway.

Shit. Why was she so damned clever? There was no way in Hell he was going to give her his real name. 

It was liberating, being with someone who didn’t know him. Most of the Commonwealth knew exactly who he was, and not in a good way. His name drew fearful stares. People avoided his eyes entirely, huddling down and scooting quickly out of sight. He marked them all though. He knew where they lived. He knew what they did, who they associated with, their secrets, their futures. Being down here with her was a fresh start. Two people who didn’t know each other, meeting and getting to know each other without any outside influences. He didn’t want her to see who he was. He didn’t want to lose her.

Or maybe he should quit kidding himself that he could be anything but the killer he was. His life had been a bleak, tormented purgatory from the moment he had been born, but instead of letting the hate and anger kill him, he had grabbed the blistering edges of his nightmare with both hands and wrapped it around himself, a boiling field of liquid fire that fit him like a second skin. A man like him didn’t deserve happiness. His hard-earned eternal damnation would be sweet peace in comparison to the life he had made. But he didn’t deserve peace either. He wasn’t worthy of the hope that warmed his heart when he saw her. He wasn’t worthy of the emotions stirring in their tombs at the sound of her voice. He wasn’t worthy of her.

“Are you still here?” Her soft voice startled him. He wiped away the tear sliding down his cheek.

TEARS?! When the fuck did he start crying? What the fuck was the matter with him?! Men like him don’t fucking cry! He couldn’t remember ever crying in his entire life.

“Cain”, he growled roughly, frustrated anger scraping his voice along the earth lying deep on the bottom of his barrow, shutting its hopeless eyes against the light hovering so far out of reach above. “You should call me Cain.”

Silence. 

“Cain.” Christine tested his name, rolling it experimentally through her thoughts.

He heard the imp return to her voice. “Are you sure? Because I thought ‘Rotten jerk who made me carry this stuff all by myself’ might be a better fit.”

He shook his head, grinning once again. How she could do this to him was ridiculous. Left alone in his mind, he was angry and… crying. She walked into the room and two seconds later he was laughing at her cheek. She was everything and more than he thought she’d be, when he had still been staring down at her frozen smile. 

“Hey! Earth to Cain! I have to go to Goodneighbor soon. Turn on the video feed so you can see what I did for you before I have to go.”

He jumped. What the Hell…?

“CAIN!” 

“Christine…how did you-?” He flipped on the terminal. In front of him, video screens sprang to life. In his earliest reconnaissance, he had found a dozen cameras hidden throughout the Vault. She was standing squarely in front of one.

She put her hands on her hips. “I just got back from Vault 81. It’s over in Cambridge. It’s a fully functioning Vault, the people there are descendants of the original occupants from the day the bombs fell. They don’t allow many outsiders, but being a former Vault dweller, they let me in. Good thing too, because one of their kids went exploring and got bitten by a molerat. He almost died. The thing is, he found this molerat in a scientific annex that had been built behind Vault 81. Scientists had lived in the annex, researching their theories and conducting experiments, but then the bastards tested them out on the occupants of the Vault itself. Generations of Vault dwellers went about their lives never knowing toxins were being tested on molerats behind their walls, then released on them through the air ducts or the water supply! They were being experimented on, just like those molerats! The scientists themselves died out a while ago, but their molerats remained there, breeding and spreading their experimental viruses to each other. Poor Austin went exploring and was bitten by one of these infected molerats. Cain, these poor people were terrified. And completely unequipped to destroy the threat to their peaceful little community. So I traveled through the entire annex and killed every single molerat that showed its face. I can’t promise I got them all, but I’ll go back every now and then to get any stragglers that may have been hiding. There was a nurse robot down there too, who had thankfully synthesized a single cure for the toxin, so the little boy Austin was saved.”

Christine crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her hip. “Cain, the second I saw the facility behind Vault 81, I knew that’s where you were, in some sort of scientific annex here, behind Vault 111. Am I wrong?”

There it was. His beautiful, clever girl had figured him out so quickly. She would never allow him to stay here with her now. She would leave and not come back. She would find some other place to hide, someplace her screams and cries could go unwitnessed. Someplace she could be alone. Really alone. He was so fucking stupid! Why had he spoken up that day? She would never have known of his presence, and he could have gone on silently taking joy in watching her, and caring for her. 

He should have let her die. 

“Cain?”

His eyes slipped back into focus. “Christine, I… I’m sorry…”

Wait. What the Hell had she done? 

Christine was sitting in a comfy armchair, her feet propped up on a footstool, a book in her hands. But that wasn’t the astonishing part. 

Her chair was one of two, set back-to-back. They were placed in the center of a threadbare rug, alongside a small table with a lamp, and a box of books. This is what he had heard her laboring at. She had brought all of this down here. For him. So they could sit together. He was speechless.

“Cain? When I sat on the bed naked, and you never came out, I guessed you were either very shy or preferred men-“

“Not men”, he blurted out.

She smiled. “Okay, shy then. At first I was creeped out that you had been watching me for so long, but I’m not anymore. You don’t want to hurt me. I’m still alive because of you. And you didn’t take advantage of my vulnerability, so you’re not a bad man. You never said a word any of the times I had come down here to vent, so you’re not judgmental, and you had never disturbed my peace before, so you’re respectful. I’m not afraid of you.”

She pointed at the chair behind her. “That’s your seat. You can come and sit with me anytime you want. I promise not to look at you, or touch you or anything. Unless you say it’s okay to.”

Christine opened her book and settled in. She took a deep breath. “Thank you, Cain.”

His mouth gaped with incredulity. She was really the most amazing and unpredictable person he had ever met. “What for?”

“For being you.” 

He sat, quietly digesting that.

“You’re… welcome.” 

___

 

“Hold up there. First time in Goodneighbor? Can’t go walking around without insurance.”

Finn was a big man. Outfitted in well-used road leathers, he cut an intimidating figure as he started his spiel, threatening some newcomer to Goodneighbor with his “insurance” scam. Robert Joseph MacCready leaned against the doorway of Daisy’s shop and crossed his arms, ready to watch the show. 

Always good for a laugh or some serious bloodletting, it was entertainment, and today had been pretty mild so far. Two ladies got kicked out of Irma’s Memory Den for fighting over the last unreserved memory lounger, a merc and a corpse deposited outside the gate by Ham, bouncer for the Third Rail bar, and a dead body was found in a dumpster in the alley.

Rob was bored. And restless. Finn’s show should mollify both needs, if only briefly. Then he’d probably head down to the bar’s back room to wait for a job. Someone always needed a mercenary, and he was the best sniper in the Commonwealth, if he did say so himself. And he did.

Goodneighbor. A town made up of the dregs of the dregs of the Commonwealth, which considering what was out beyond their front gate, was a condition most would be alarmed at. Daisy was a ghoul, Finn was a raider, Mac himself used to be a Gunner. Everyone who was no one lived here, sheltering behind makeshift walls built against makeshift barriers that were built up against makeshift barricades. Splintered plywood and barbed wire jammed together with walls from old storefronts and tires. A bent, metal “Welcome to Boston” sign poked out beside the old hotel. Chain-link fencing, cement barriers, pickets, furniture remains, broken glass, bones, and huge metal beams kept the riff-raff of war-torn Boston out of their little town. Or maybe it kept them in. Goodneighbor was a town filled with all sorts. As long as everyone played nice, they were welcome. 

A bald drifter wearing sunglasses leaned his back against the wall of Daisy’s Discounts next to him and lit a cigarette, interested in the show.

Finn’s target was a tall, dark-haired woman. Bloody combat armor and road leathers covered a body toned, but relaxed. She had a laser rifle slung on her back, a .10mm on her hip, and a combat knife in each boot. Yet despite her intimidating accoutrements, her face was sweet, and her eyes were kind. She almost looked like a kid wearing her dad’s gear for Halloween. 

“I need insurance?” The woman lifted an eyebrow at Finn, confused.

“That’s right. Insurance. Personal protection, like. This is Goodneighbor, doll. You’re going to need it.”

She slowly smiled at Finn.

Holy shit. That smiled changed everything. Suddenly her guns looked too small, like she should be carrying a cannon. Her knives would fit her more if they were machetes. The blood on her chestplate gleamed. Mac took an involuntary step back.

The drifter chuckled.

Finn ignored her smile. “You hand over everything in those pockets, or ‘accidents’ start happening to you. Big, bloody ‘accidULP! “

Snatching Finn’s open palm, the woman spun and crouched, driving her elbow into Finns unprotected groin. Rocketing to her feet, she used Finn’s own momentum to catapult the man over her shoulder and onto the ground. She knelt on his back, his right arm twisted almost up to between his shoulder blades, her pistol jammed up against the base of his skull.

“Do you think you’re more intimidating that what’s outside your walls, little man? What I had to kill my way through to even get here?” she asked, her voice disturbingly soft. The big raider squirmed and moaned beneath her. 

She leaned close to his ear. “You’re not even close.” 

Her gun snapped up, its sights sliding from one spectator to the next. “Anyone else got something I ‘need’?” She gestured at Finn with her gun. “Hell can always use more volunteers…” No one spoke.

“No I don’t, sister,” said a ghoul, sauntering toward her, “but when you’re done putting Finn in his place, you come see me.”

Christine marked the respect that brightened the jaded eyes of her audience, as the ghoul stopped on the other side of Finn’s immobilized body, a relaxed commander surveying the commotion on his ship. He was an interesting sight, from his tricorn hat, to his red frock coat, to his belt of knotted flag. What interested her the most was his face. Ghouls in general had few expressions, due to the ravages of radiation she assumed, but this one’s black eyes were full of humor, and his wry smile made it unable to tell if he was laughing at her or not. Her mother would have said he was ‘trouble looking for a place to happen’. 

She grinned mischievously at him and let the big raider up. “Maybe what I need is keep-dumb-assholes-away-from-me insurance. Got any of that lying around?”

“Sister, if I had that, I’d be rich.” He laughed and reached out his hand. “Hancock, Mayor of Goodneighbor.”

Christine grasped his fingers, but instead of shaking it, she lifted the back of his hand to the sky, and made a graceful curtsy. “Lady Christine of the Island of ‘I Like Your Fucking Town!’”

Hancock let out another great guffaw and hauled her into a rough hug. “I like you, sister!”

Finn stood up and brushed the filth from his hands and chest. He cast Christine a venomous look and shuffled off.

“So,” Hancock drew her attention back. “What can Goodneighbor do for the newest member of our little family?”

“Looking for an ex-gunner named MacCready, young hothead with a big mouth and good aim. I was told I’d find him here. Do you know him?”

Mac’s eyes widened in alarm. He quietly stepped back into the shadowy doorway of Daisy’s Discounts.

An empty whiskey bottle flew from the darkness of an alley, directly at Christine, and smashed at her feet. She leaped back. 

“What the…” she began.

“Finn.” Hancock said with disgust. “I’m going to have to do something about him now.” He gestured at Daisy’s store. “Your ex-gunner is right over there.”

“Hancock, if it’s all the same to you, I would sure like to deal with Mr. Finn myself. I don’t like my leniency to be abused.”

“Actually, it does matter to me. This is MY town. You don’t get away with shit like that in My town.”

She regarded him evenly. “Tell you what. Rock, paper, scissors, best two out of three, and winner gets to kill Finn.”

Hancock burst out laughing. “I like your style. Not a lot of people are willing to face off to the mayor. Rock, paper, scissors it is. Now what is rock, paper, scissors?”

Christine eyed him in astonishment. “I would have thought that would have survived the war. Ok, together we say ‘One, two, three”. On three, you either make a rock,” she made a fist, “Paper,” she flattened her hand out, “or scissors”, she made a snipping gesture with her fingers. Paper covers rock, scissors cut paper, rock dulls scissors. Got it?”

“Got it. One, two, three!”

He flipped out paper, she fisted a rock.

“Ha! I won!” he crowed. “One, two, three!” 

Rock, paper.

“One for me,” Christine smiled smugly. “Okay, it all rests on the final throw. No pressure. You going to be okay? Not woozy or anything?”

Hancock grinned. “I think I can handle it. One, two, three!”

Paper, scissors.

“WOOOT! I win! Excuse me while I go kill Finn and find my gunner. See you later, Hancock.”

“Wait a minute. What’s a woot?”

“Are you kidding me? No rock, paper, scissors? No woots? See this is why everyone is so grumpy. The war robbed you of your rock, paper, scissors, and woots.” She trotted off towards Daisy’s, a happy little kid once again.

The bald drifter caught Christine’s arm as she jogged past. “You looking for MacCready?”

She slipped his loose grip and drove her fist into his stomach. Grabbing him by the front of his shirt, Christine yanked him up so he had no choice but to look directly into her cold eyes.

“Hands off, Buttercup.” She dropped him and brushed away the wrinkles she had crushed into the worn flannel. She straightened his collar. “Where is he?”

“He (cough)…k-heee (cough, cough)…wait a (cough)…sec.” The drifter bent down, one hand on his knee, one lifted in supplication. 

Christine waited patiently.

Drawing in a ragged breath, the distressed man tried again to answer. “He (harruuum)… You know it would be easier to get answers if you didn’t go around belting helpful people.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. 

“Okay, okay!” He straightened and gestured up the main alley. “When you went all crazy on Finn, he ducked out. I’m gonna guess he’s looking for his clean pants down in the Third Rail.”

A twinkle briefly sparked in here eye, and her expression relaxed somewhat. She continued her steady regard of the drifter. 

“Do I know you?” she finally asked. “I remember seeing you. Somewhere. Where do I know you from?”

“In general, I like to steer clear of people who punch me, so no, never seen you before today.” 

Christine watched him slip off into the crowd, her brow furrowed. He looked so familiar. 

A memory of being in the campus pub with Anna drifted to the front of her mind. Long before the war, when her old friends’ cryogenic studies were still in pen and ink form, Anna had dragged Christine to yet another party for the sole purpose of ‘reading’ any men she met, so as to avoid another of the heartbreaks Anna was so prone to. With uncanny accuracy, Christine could study a person’s face, and tell what their motivation was. ‘This man was sweet, but undoubtedly gay, and looking to prove he wasn’t.’ ‘That man was a nice guy but too happy with his successes with women to appreciate Anna.’ ‘The guy on her left was only using Anna to get Christine’s attention.’ 

Anna had gently jerked her chin at a man who was dancing with another woman, but kept glancing over at them. With a sigh, Christine wandered over, caught his eyes as he looked up, and then continued on her path through the gyrating crowd to the bar on the other side. By the time she had returned with drinks, Anna was already deep in flirtatious conversation with a different man- tall, dark-haired, with muscles on his muscles, and a face Anna shouldn’t need Christine to decipher for her at all. Christine stood behind the man and shook her head emphatically at her friend, but Anna had deliberately looked away and upped her inner vixen. The next morning, Anna had dragged in, weeping and heartbroken, and swore to never ignore Christine’s supernatural intuition again.

Christine watched the bald man melt into Goodneighbor’s seedy ensemble, and felt her spidey senses tingle. She had seen him before. She knew it.

 

“Hancock says newcomers are welcome in the Third Rail. Go on in.”

The bouncer’s surly subtext read “but I don’t agree. Start any trouble and I’ll wipe your bloody carcass across the walls, and stick your head on a pike to warn any other newcomers not to even think about starting trouble.”

Christine could appreciate that. In a town like Goodneighbor, trouble probably needed to be kept firmly tamped down, or the whole town would blow like a belligerent, animosity-fueled explosives bunker.

She stuck out her hand. “Christine.”

He stared at it, then returned his taciturn gaze to her face.

She waited, hand still outstretched.

He continued to stare at her.

Christine fought the urge to start making faces. Her brother had loved instigating stare-downs. Aaaand she always lost. Unless she could get Christian to laugh at some particularly goofy expression. It was habit to drop immediately into silliness, but staring into the bouncer’s solid black eyes and expressionless face made her rethink that particular strategy. 

The ghoul continued his placid, lightly menacing regard.

Oh what the hell. Christine held her eye contact and wiggled her brows.

A small crease appeared in the ghoul’s leathery forehead.

Ah-ha. Well maybe she had drawn the conclusion that all ghouls were expressionless because she had never watched them closely enough. She crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue.

His composed expression turned to one of confusion.

Barely repressing her own giggles, she sucked in her cheeks and made a kissy-fish face.

At his alarmed expression, Christine lost it. She burst out laughing.

“Okay, okay, you win! You sir, are the champion at stare-downs. I concede victory to your outstanding control. You win.”

A small smile twitched his lips. “Not a lot of people deliberately antagonize me, miss.” He grudgingly took her hand. “Ham.”

“Very pleased to meet you Ham.”

“You behave down there.”

“Yes, sir.” Christine chuckled and skipped down the stairs.

 

“Get out of my way, bitch.”

Christine shoved away the hand that had landed in the middle of her chest and propelled her into the wall. She swung her fist at its owner’s face and heard him grunt as it connected.

Suddenly she was back up against the wall, held up by a huge fist around her throat, and the floor no longer in reach of her frantically searching toes. She struggled, coughing, choking, and cursing. Both of her hands ripped and pulled at his fist, but it was made of iron. She made no progress.

“I ggrufffkknngggg killgmmmbmmmkk yemmkkggg!” Her kicking foot caught her assailant in the knee, hard. He folded, dropping her.

His companion snapped his gun to Christine’s chest. “Bad move bitch. Say you’re sorry, and we might let you go.”

Christine coughed and dragged in a couple of deep breaths. She stood up straight and yelled over her shoulder. 

“HAM! CAN I FUCK THESE GUYS UP JUST A LITTLE BIT?!”

The patrons of the Third Rail watched the disturbance with mild interest. Bar fights were common, and Ham usually mopped them up pretty quickly. This one might be interesting though. No one had ever asked permission to start a fight before. MacCready popped his head around the corner.

“You don’t have to yell, Miss. I’m right here.” Ham gave her a ghost of a smile as she spun, a startled expression on her face.

“Bloody hell Ham! How did you get down here so fast?”

“My job. I throw out the troublemakers.” He faced the two hostile men. “You keep that in mind.”

Christine smiled smugly. “That would be you. I’m being polite here.”

MacCready stepped closer to the action. A fight he could possibly get into, and he didn’t even have to start it. That would take the edge off his restlessness. He hoped he could get in a few licks on the two Gunners before Ham broke it up. Barnes and Winlock had been on their way out after pushing MacCready himself around, when they crossed the woman’s path. This day was just getting better and better. 

Winlock reached out a lazy hand and slapped the woman across the mouth. “Shut up, cunt. Your mouth has only one use, and it ain’t talking.”

A slow smile crept across her face.

Fuck. MacCready stepped back behind the corner. He peeked out.

Ham laid a restraining hand on the woman’s arm. “Miss, you go visit with Magnolia. I’ll take care of this here.”

The woman didn’t move. It didn’t even look like she was breathing. 

“Miss.”

Nothing.

“Miss.”

Still no response. She had become a statue, the promise of delightfully agonizing carnage frozen in her smile. MacCready was no coward, and truth be told, he tended to charge headlong into trouble with a certain glee. Blood, bruises, the occasional broken bone, or black eye was a comfortable exchange for the excitement of a fight. He didn’t even care what the fight was about. He usually just charged in and started swinging.

But for all his rampant destructive tendencies, even he knew not to play with a deathclaw. Or rather, at this moment, he’d rather play with one than be on the receiving end of that woman’s smile.

She forced herself to take a grudging, halting step back. And another.

Winlock crossed his arms smugly. “Good little bitch. You do what you’re told, or I’ll fuck your mouth right here in-“

Uh-oh.

In slow-motion, MacCready watched her foot shoot out and connect with staggering force into Winlock’s crotch. His knees buckled, but instead of smugly watching him fall and leaving the cleanup to Ham, the woman grabbed his head and slammed it down on her rising knee. Her fists slammed together on the back of his neck. Winlock went face-first to the floor, but she wasn’t done with him yet. She kicked him in the side of the head, then drove her heel down at the base of his skull. The crack of Winlock’s neck breaking echoed around the deathly silent room. 

“MISS!” Ham grabbed her around the waist and hauled her away from the men. He shoved her towards the bar. “You go stand by Magnolia!” He returned to the second Gunner, who was gaping down at his dead partner. “You. Take your buddy and get out.”

MacCready watched the red sequins on Magnolia’s dress shimmer and reflect the dim light of the bar, as the fabric tugged sensuously around her curves. The sultry singer settled the unresisting woman on a couch by the stage. 

“Oh honey,” she said with her husky southern voice, “you shouldn’t have done that. Those Gunners, they take care of their own, and you just killed one. They’re going to come looking for you.”

The woman looked up and locked eyes with MacCready. “I’m counting on it.”

 

BAM! BAMBAM! 

The Goodneighbor warehouse rang with the sounds of gunfire, and the taunts and screaming of the remaining triggerman 'rats'.

“If you get me killed, I’m going to kill you!”

BAM!

“Fair enough.” 

BAM! BAMBAMBAM!

“It’ll cost you more too. Watch that guy on your left. He keeps moving behind the wall.”

“I’m watching him.”

BAMBAM! BAMBAM!

Christine and MacCready crept silently up the crumbling brick stairs to the second floor of the warehouse. 

Christine pocketed a silver locket from the small table on the landing.

MacCready was really starting to like his new employer. He grinned. “Ahhh. She’s a thief too. Gunner-killer, warehouse-clearing, thieving-“

“Shhhhh! For a sniper, you are seriously noisy. You get killed, it’s your own damn fault. I’m taking the guy on the right. You get ‘Mr. Sketchy’ over there.”

“You got it, Boss.”

BAMBAMBAM!

“Three shots MacCready? Really? I thought you knew how to shoot.”

“You didn’t even shoot your-“

BAM!

“See? One shot, one kill. Get it together, Sweet Pea.”

“What’s a fucking sweet pea?”

Christine snorted and kept moving. Last floor of the last Goodneighbor warehouse she had contracted with Whitechapel Charlie ‘clean out the rats’ in, and then she could pick up her fee. Sounded like about three more guys, scuffing around the north corner, behind the row of filing cabinets. 

She waved MacCready behind herself and stealthily slipped behind the cabinets. He slid in behind her, squinting to see in the dark.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please, lady I’m sorry! You can kill me, but please don’t hurt them!”

Christine froze. She was pointing her rifle at Finn…and four children.

 

Christine carefully handed her gun to MacCready. “Don’t relax yet,” she said in a soft undertone.

She surveyed the little group, and pinned Finn with her eyes. “What am I looking at here, Finn? Tell me the truth or I will plaster your brains on the wall behind you and sell these kids to slavers.”

His eyes widened, as he spread his arms wider, trying to create more of a wall between the children and Christine.

“No! Please! Don’t hurt them! Leave them alone!” One of the children began to cry. Finn hovered between wanting to comfort the child, and continuing to barricade Christine. Comfort won, and throwing them a look over his shoulder, he gathered the child into his arms and stroked her hair. 

“Shhhh. It’s okay Rosie. She won’t take you. I won’t let her.” The child snuggled into his chest and calmed, her wide, tear-filled eyes still on Christine and MacCready. 

Christine watched the other three children hover close, each seeming to need to have a hand on Finn. She considered the frightened little group thoughtfully. Finn had leaped to defend the children from her menacing threat. They looked to him for protection and comfort. They weren’t hiding behind Finn because they saw him as the lesser threat. Their attachment to each other was genuine. 

Finn didn’t own the children. He wasn’t keeping them from their families. These weren’t child sex slaves.

She relaxed and smiled at the fearful little huddle.

“Finn? Finn, I’m sorry I scared you guys like that. I needed to push at you so I could understand what was going on. I could never hurt these children! I just needed to know these kids aren’t in a bad place… that you weren’t…” She let her words trail off.

“NO! I would never!” Finn spun around, the child still in his arms. “I was trying to keep us safe from those triggermen. We were staying with Bobbi No-nose, but she threatened to sell the kids when I didn’t bring her enough money, so we snuck up here to hide until I could figure out what to do. Then the triggermen started coming in, and we kept climbing higher to get away from them, then got stuck up here. There was nowhere to go. I was hoping to sneak us out tomorrow when they left, but they found us. Then you two showed up, and I couldn’t tell who was shooting at who. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Where were you going to go?” Christine asked gently.

Finn hung his head miserably. “I don’t know. Kids aren’t safe in Goodneighbor. I heard from traders that there are some safe settlements out there now. The Minutemen are back and protecting them. But I can’t go out those gates with four children and expect to get them safely past the next street still alive. But we can’t stay here. I don’t know what to do,” he repeated, almost in tears. 

The small child in his arms reached up and patted his cheek. He smiled weakly at her, and bumped her nose with his. She squealed and threw her arms around his neck.

Christine looked back to MacCready and halted what she had been about to say. 

The man was staring at the loving exchange, transfixed. His mouth moved with disjointed words he put no voice to, his eyes shining with pain, anger, regret, and loss. Yearning, his hands opened to hold something his arms refused to reach for. His pain gripped her, closing her throat with tears that were not her own.

“Rob…” she whispered, reaching out her hand.

His eyes flickered to hers. “I’ll be downstairs”, he said shortly, as he turned and left.

A small hand fit itself into hers. Christine looked down to see the oldest child, a boy of about eight, peering up at her. Tentatively, he smiled.

Squeezing his hand, she smiled back. She sat on a stained sleeping bag. Opening her pack, she pulled out a couple cans of water, a Nuka Cola, a box of Sugar Bombs, and a battered mutfruit. 

“Finn”, she said, “My name is Christine Christopher. I am the General of the Commonwealth Minutemen. MacCready and I are going to take you guys home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting to get back onto the general timeline of the Fallout 4 story, but okay, I can't seem to make myself touch this world only lightly. Not sorry. And only a little sorry it's taking me longer and longer to publish chapters. In my defense, I have about 6 others roughed out, but don't want to work on them until it's their turn. But I can't turn my brain off! I have to write them down or they crowd out the chapter I'm trying to concentrate on. Thanks for hanging in there with me.
> 
> As always, your positive and negative criticisms and thoughts are very very very very welcome.


	24. The Best Way to Find Out If You Can Trust Someone, Is To Trust Them.     -Ernest Hemingway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MacCready and Christine take on the Gunners at the Mass Pike Interchange

Chapter 24

“When was the last time you were even out here?!”

MacCready glared right back at Christine. “I come out all the time! I… just… I’m just not usually up face to face with these guys. Usually.”

“Usually? What the hell else is there?”

Bullets continued their staccato on the thick metal table lying on its side between Christine and MacCready, and a fairly bad-tempered group of raiders. MacCready startled as a high-caliber round almost punched through next to Christine’s head.

“I’m a sniper!” MacCready hissed. “You know, shoot from a distance? Kill things before they even see you? As in NOT UP FACE TO FACE!”

Christine closed her eyes and scrubbed her forehead with her fists. “Okay, okay, okay, OKAY!” She took a deep breath. “New plan.”

Her eyes popped open almost immediately. “How fast can you run?”

“WHAT?!”

“Help me shove our table to the window. We’re going to jump.”

“WHAT?!”

“We’re only on the second story. Just roll when you hit the ground. Your legs will probably break if you make them take the full weight of the fall.”

“WHAT?!”

“Are you really going to just keep saying that, or are you going to help?”

“What? I don’t… I… What?”

Christine grabbed the front of his duster with both hands and gave him a shake. “Robert Joseph MacCready, help me or we’ll be dying right here, face to face, together, because I’m not leaving your scrawny little butt behind. Now PUSH!” 

She wrapped her hands around the table legs and strained to slide it towards the window. MacCready joined her. Heaving and grunting, they managed to move it about four inches.

“Okay, not working. We’re going to run for it after all. Stay with me little sniper.”

Christine threw a heavy barrage over the top of their makeshift bunker with her new assault rifle, and jumped to a crouch. 

“Let’s go! Keep firing!” She blasted the barricade the raiders were cowering behind one more time, then opened fire on the window that had been their goal only moments ago. The glass shattered, showering Christine and MacCready with bits and shards. 

“NONONONO!!!” he yelled as she grabbed his jacket.

Firing one final blast at the raiders, Christine charged across the room and leapt through the broken window, hauling MacCready with her.

 

Christine spit the mud out of her mouth and looked for her partner. 

Fuck.

MacCready was lying motionless on the ground, half-hidden beneath a bush.

“DID YOU SEE THAT? WHERE THE FUCK DID THEY GO?” Christine could hear the raiders shoving furniture aside, trying to get to the window to see where their quarry had disappeared to.

Fuckity fuck fuck FUCK! 

Hoping like hell he didn’t have a broken neck or spine or anything equally bad to move, Christine pulled MacCready all the way under the bushes and covered his prone body with her own. She held her breath.

“SHIT, LOST’EM.”

“DISAPPEARING ACT, HUH?”

“WHERE THE FUCK DID THEY GO?”

“THIS AIN’T OVER BITCH! I’II FIND YOU!” The raiders fired down into the yard in front of the derelict school, spattering Christine’s body with more mud as their aimless bullets pocked the ground. She heard their coarse laughter and conversation fade as they withdrew from the window. 

She breathed a sigh of relief. Now to wake up MacCready and get the hell out of there. “Please be okay, please be okay,” she whispered as she started to roll off his body.

Christine almost jumped out of her skin when she saw his eyes, only inches from her own, were wide open. Staring. Unblinking. 

“MacCready?” she whispered tentatively. “Rob? Are you okay? Please say something. Rob? Please?”

He stifled a groan and closed his eyes.

“I fucking hate you.”

 

Miles of ragged, blasted landscape, and ruined buildings passed as Christine and Rob trudged along in total silence. She shot him a look of disgust. He returned one of loathing. She coldly ignored him. He stuck his nose in the air with stunning unconcern. Only a few more miles lay between them and the little settlement of Sunshine Tidings, but it seemed to get further and further away, the closer they travelled toward it. 

Thirteen people waited there for them. Thirteen people who only a few weeks, or in some cases just days ago, had made their way to the settlement, struggling through the harsh and unforgiving nuclear wastes, to find what they had prayed would be the final stop on their never-ending journey to survive. Settlements created and protected by the Minutemen, had called to them as a beacon of refuge. Hope rose in these people at the possibility of a night of uninterrupted, safe sleep, and a decent meal. 

The greatest joy in Christine’s new life, was watching the skeptical, hopeful wariness of these weary travelers turn to disbelieving realization, then finally to a kind of confident enthusiasm. People arrived with just the clothes on their backs, ready to move on when their destination suffered its inevitable demise, whether by being overrun by the raiders or mutant creatures that had driven them from every previous refuge, or from the expected dissolution of the current Minutemen. They were ready to sleep with one eye open as they had always done, their pitiful weapons held at the ready at all times. Their next ‘safe’ destination was already on their minds.

Instead, they were fed, given a place to sleep, clean clothes or shoes if they needed it, clean water to drink and bathe, and a solid roof over their heads. The communities were guarded 24/7 by Minutemen and Minutemen-in-training. Settlers already comfortable in their new homes, reached out to them in kindness, and to help wherever needed. Confidence and pride, in themselves and their new life, started to build as the refugees were given jobs to do, and taught new skills. Minutemen lived right on the premises, with classes in marksmanship, melee skills, and self- protection for everyone, regardless of age or ability. Patrols passed through multiple times every day. Provisioners journeyed to their community, sharing supplies and news.

The new General of the Minutemen, or members of her trusted cadre visited often. They brought increasingly better armor, guns, ammunition, and items to bring more comfort to the settler’s lives, and to hear of their progress and needs. The General pushed them to learn how to strengthen their armor, and modify their weapons. Once they mastered skills in one discipline, another was always available to learn next. Farmers learned how to repair turrets, shopkeepers learned how to build houses, women were in guard towers, then cooking, and men could blacksmith nails then tend children. The General’s goal was not just to save settlers, but to give them a safe haven in which to learn how to save themselves. She rejoiced as they reached out to care for and teach each other. As each settlement became more solidly established, settlers joined Minutemen patrols, and filled out teams to build defenses and water purifiers, plant crops, and ready the next settlement for future skeptical, hopeful travelers to call home.

Now the Gunners were making increasingly more aggressive attacks on the little communities. Sunshine Tidings was uncomfortably close to a Gunner stronghold, prompting the General to find a way to end the violence so they could return to their peaceful lives. True her philosophy that ‘the best defense is a good offense’, Christine had trekked to Goodneighbor, chasing rumors of an ex-gunner with just what she wanted- remarkable skills, and inside knowledge of the Gunners interior workings. He would be the perfect person to help her destroy the Gunner threat, killing every last one, and burning their bastions to the ground. The settlers would be safe. Just as importantly, every other raider or mercenary gang in the Commonwealth would receive the unequivocal message that the Minutemen were back, and they wouldn’t tolerate any threat to their settlements. “You Will Die Trying” was the General's statement. 

Now, sonofabitch if her ace in the hole hadn’t turned out to be big fat dud! Christine had deliberately killed a Gunner to provoke the organization, to let them know she was after them and wasn’t afraid. If MacCready wouldn’t hold up his end of their deal, her plan would go to hell in a big way. The Gunners would take their attention from her and switch it back to the Minuteman settlements.

Fuck that. The only way that was going to happen was over her cold dead body. She grabbed Macready’s arm.

“Stop. Right now.”

He looked pointedly at her hand on his arm, then back at her face, dangerous promise in his eyes.

Christine returned his lethal gaze. Without breaking eye contact, she released his arm, then snatched the front of his shirt and yanked him to her until they were nose-to-nose. He yipped.

“Listen to me,” she said, enunciating every syllable. “I point, you shoot. That’s the deal. No discussion, no whining, no crying, no backing out, no running away like a fucking coward. If I say ‘jump through that window’, you jump. If I say ‘stay close’, you stay close. If I say ‘attack’, you attack. If I say ‘shut up,’ you shut the fuck up. I’m paying you to do what we both need to do- kill the Gunners. Every last one, until I’m certain none are left, and the thought of attacking one of our settlements leaves every other bastard in the Commonwealth soiling their pants. Do not EVER pussy out again, or I will shoot you myself. Do you understand m-“

“But you are a FU-FREAKING LUNATIC! He slapped at her hand.

Christine gave him a shake. “And don’t interrupt me. It pisses me off. Not a good choice.” She released him. “As I was saying, do you understand me?”

“Yes,” he muttered.

She waited.

“Yes I understand you!” he said angrily. “But I have a few things to say too. I’m NOT working for you blindly. This needs to be a discussion.”

“Fair enough. What’s on your mind?” She plopped to the ground and began rummaging in her pack.

MacCready stared at her, bewildered by her mercurial moods. She was cold and deadly serious a second ago, now she was sitting on the ground, offering him a Nuka Cola. What the-? Who the-? 

What had he gotten himself into this time? 

He shook his head and took a deep breath. “You paid for my services. I don’t welch on a deal, no matter how hard the job is, but you lady? You are fu-flipping insane. You want just you and me to clear out every Gunners nest in the Commonwealth?”

“Yes,” she said simply. 

“And you’re going to drag me through second story windows?”

“Yes. Or third. And down into holes in the ground, and buildings and alleys infested with ferals and mutants and blood-sucking bugs-“

“I hate bugs. All of them, not just the blood-sucking ones. They spit the most disgusting…” he caught her flat look. “Oh. Sorry.”

Christine closed her eyes, praying for patience. 

“MacCready,” she looked him squarely in the eyes, “I don’t know what you’re used to from an employer, and honestly I DON’T CARE. What I need is for you to have my back. I need you to shoot the bad guys without question. There are a lot of good people depending on my promise to remove this threat from their lives. I promised them. I. Promised. Do you understand?”

If this stupid woman didn’t stop talking to him like he was a child, he was going to deck her.

“Yes! I understand promises. I’ve made a few myself. I understand how important they are, and what they mean to the people you make them to, even if sometimes they never know you made it to them. And these people you’re talking about, why do you even care about them? Why aren’t they here fighting with you?”

Christine filed his ‘even if sometimes they never know you made it to them’ comment away with his enigmatic need to correct curse words. 

“Because they can’t deal with this big a threat, and with this level of experience. This is totally out of their league. If they come with me, they’ll die. Period. And I can’t fight if I’m spending all of my time trying to keep them from getting killed. My name is Christine Christopher. I’m the General of the new Commonwealth Minutemen, and I will protect these people until I can no longer draw breath or lift a gun. Robert Joseph MacCready, I have chosen you to have my back. You. You and I are going to kill every last Gunner. You’ll have them off your back for good, and my people will be safe. I already fired one hell of an attention-getting shot across their bow by killing Winlock. Now we follow up on it. Can you shoot or not?”

MacCready was stunned. He was working for the new General of the Minutemen. Son of a bit…gun. “Yes! Of course I can!” he sputtered. “I’m the best sniper in the Commonwealth!”

“So I heard. You ready to use those skills I paid for?”

“Of course! But are you seriously going to throw me out more windows?”

“If I have to. And very likely other crazy things I can’t predict.”

She laid her hand on his arm, gently this time. “Rob, I believe in not waiting for hell to come looking for me. I will hunt it down first. Every time. In pursuit of that, all kinds of unexpected situations will come up. It’s inevitable. You are going to have to trust me. My father used to tell me that faith is not being afraid to step out of the light and into the darkness, because you know, deep inside, that even though you can’t see it, there will either be something there to put your foot on, or you’ll be taught how to fly. Have some faith in me, Rob.”

MacCready watched her, mesmerized by her words. “Okay”, he said finally.

“Just okay? You need to be sure, or tell me now. You’re with me, no matter what? You’re sure?”

“Yes.” He stood and brushed off his coat. “Lead on, boss.”

 

Christine and Rob crept up the broken overpass, hugging cement barriers and piles of debris.

“Turret and a guard center, guy left, two guys right. Tell me something useful,” Christine whispered.

Rob grinned. She finally wanted more than his marksmanship! He knew lots of stuff about this place. This was his home territory. It was one of the many Gunners nests he had called home. 

“There’s going to be about ten or twelve total- probably one not far behind the guy on the left, and two or three further back working on armor and weapons. There’s a turret back there too. There’s a lookout shack behind this barricade on the right, so maybe two there, and one or two more in the living area behind that. Barnes is the commander for this spot, but he’s never here. He’s always at GNN. Good thing too. He has a top-of-the-line suit of power armor. And there’s an Assaultron. That should be it.”

“Assaultron?! You have an Assaultron?!”

“Had, not have, remember? Not with these assh-buttheads anymore. Winlock was working on her laser eyebeam when I left the Gunners, and he’s pretty good at that sort of thing, so we’re going to want to watch for that.”

Christine gently bounced her forehead against the cool cement. “Any more little surprises of death we should talk about?”

“That should be it. You okay?”

She took a deep breath. “Yes. Ducky. Right- here’s the plan: goal one- don’t die.”

He squinted one eye at her. “So ‘ducky’ is a… bad thing. Got it. And then?”

“Sniper man, take out that turret first. I’ll-“

“Sniper man. I like that. I sound like one of the Unstoppables.”

“I’ll get you a cape. As I was saying-“

“I need a comic book too. ‘Sniper man and the Dead Gunner Beasts’. Something like that.”

“MacCready! Focus! I’ll shoot the Gunner next to the turret you’re going to take out. Then, if we clear the guys on the left first, we can scoot to their roost and use it as cover while we take out the guys on the right. See how it’s angled? You-“

“Yeah! I never noticed that before. Bad tactical planning by them.”

Christine exhaled heavily. MacCready was incapable of not interrupting. Got it.

“They probably never thought anyone would actually attack them here, Rob. Now, once we’re there, you concentrate on the guys on the right. I’ll get the far turret, then shoot with you until they start sneaking up my side, then I’ll focus on those guys. You keep clearing out anything that comes up on the right. We’ll play it by ear once we get that far, but the gist is to keep working our way toward the other end and killing any Gunners we come across until they’re all gone. We stay within speaking distance of each other. And for God’s sake, if you see that Assaultron, drop everything and take her the fuck out. Keep talking to me. I need to know what you’re doing. I’ll do the same. Got enough ammo?”

“Of course,” he scoffed.

“Stimpaks?”

“One.”

“Good enough. Eye of the Tiger?”

“What? What the heck is that?”

“What is WRONG with you guys?! No one’s heard of that before?” She shook her head. “I have a song for you later. Ready?” She pointed at the turret. “Make it so.”

“What?”

“Star Trek reference.”

He blinked.

“No Star Trek? Bloody Hell! How are you fucking still alive? No wonder life sucks so bad here. Just shoot the damn turret, Rob.”

At last! Something he could understand. 

BAM! BAM! KABOOOM!

“One turret and one Gunner down, Boss.”

“Hey, that was my guy!” BAM BAM! “WOOT! Guy on the left down.”

BAM! “Guy behind him down. What’s a woot? Is it good?”

“Jesus Rob, you’re killing me here! Let’s head for the roost. And ignore anything I say that you don’t understand.”

She took the lead, scuttling behind a broken car, then dashing for the blockade, Rob a breath behind her.

“TARGET LOCATED.” A searing beam of light scored down Christine’s side. She cried out and dove to cover.

Rob wrestled to get his only stimpak into her writhing body. “Hang on Christine! It burned the wound closed so you’re not bleeding…”

“Get it Get it Get it!” she gasped out between her clenched teeth. “Forget me! Get the goddamn Assaultron!”

He dropped the stimpak next to her. Sighting on the Assaultron, he fired again and again, but she kept coming. The remaining Gunners opened fire on their hiding place. Chips of wood flew. The Assaultrons thick laser eye burned a scorching path through the side of the barricade.

“Rob,” Christine grunted, tossing away the used stimpak,” I’m not big on protracted fighting, so let’s get this over with.” She passed him a grenade. “Be careful. It’s the only one I have.”

“When the hell-heck were you going to tell me we had a…oh never mind!” He pulled the pin and pitched the grenade straight at the Assaultron.

GFOOOOM! 

As bits of metal and flesh rained down, Christine flipped her assault rifle to automatic and joined Rob’s attack with a vengeance. He ducked down to reload while she fired, then returned to his favorite job of killing bad guys while she reloaded. A comfortable rhythm began between the two, one always firing while the other reloaded. Targeted in their relentless onslaught, Gunners dropped like flies. 

A bullet caught Christine in the shoulder and she buckled again.

“NO!” Rob yelled at her. “Fight it Christine! Pain happens! It always happens in a fight! You decide whether or not it’ll stop you!” 

Blinding, burning pain clouded Christine’s concentration. But MacCready was right. It was only pain. Her mind and will were stronger, goddamn it! She grit her teeth and swung the rifle up again. Pain erupted in her shoulder socket. Unable to see past the agony, her shots went wild, and she crumpled to her knees again.

“NONONO!!!” I need you Christine! I can’t clear this alone! It’s your turn not to pussy out! Pick up your gun and fight! Come on!”

Sensing their victory, the Gunners advanced. Another shot drilled into Christine’s leg, punching straight through to embed itself in the wood behind her. She heard MacCready grunt. Blood started running down his arm, staining his ragged sleeve.

“Christine! You are tougher than the pain! Goddamn it get up or we both die right here! Then your Minutemen will die. The Gunners will hunt down every last one. Your promise won’t save them if you’re dead!”

In a haze, she watched Rob’s head snap to the side, and he slowly fell, the sniper rifle that was his pride and joy slipping from his nerveless hands. He landed beside her with a soft thump.

No. This could not be happening. She was going to wake up in her lumpy bed in the MIT dorm any minute, probably jerking her body up like everyone did as they woke from a falling nightmare. Nightmare. The Commonwealth was just a nightmare. The settlers she loved weren’t real. This was just a bad dream. A very bad dream. Anna would hear her scream and rush over to wake her up in a second, patting her soothingly and making her a cup of tea. They would laugh about Christine’s horrible nightmare, and go back to sleep, waking the next morning to another lovely, quiet, predictable day of philosophy classes and cryogenic experiments. She would wake from stasis, have her radiation healed, and save the people at her settlements, and the Gunners would be gone forever. Cato would yell at her and Elliott would laugh at her messy hair, and Preston would tell her about another settlement that needed Minuteman help.

Anna’s shadow fell over her and Christine knew she was safe.

“You’re going to pay for that, bitch. Did you really think you could beat Gunners?” Anna’s harsh voice scraped through Christine’s brain like a saw, rocking and drawing back and forth, and tearing out shreds of her haze. 

Anna’s. Harsh. Voice… What? 

The angry Gunner knelt on Christine’s arm. She screamed as the pain in her shoulder ripped through her body. “And thank you so much for bringing MacCready to us. Maybe I’ll let you live. A Gunner’s life is lonely. Fighter like you would liven it up. I’ll deal with this sneaky little bastard first, then you’re mine.” He swung his rifle over toward Rob.

“NO!” Christine screamed. “YOU CAN”T-!” She yanked Cato’s combat knife from her boot and drove it under the shocked Gunner’s ribcage, tearing his skin as her fist punched it in past the handle. 

Shots slammed into the ground next to her head. There was still another Gunner somewhere! ShitshitSHIT! 

Wrestling to free his weapon, she pushed the dead man off her chest, using it as a shield between her and the direction of the gunfire. She needed to get the gun and shoot the other Gunner before-

BAMBAMBAMBAMBAM!!!!

Silence.

MacCready collapsed onto her, the blood dripping from his forehead mingling with her bloody shoulder.

“You can’t… let…the… pain stop you…Christine,” he grunted. “You will get shot…or stabbed…or…whatever. Don’t let the pain stop you…or you die. And me too.”

 

“LET’S ROCK!!!” 

MacCready lifted his aching head to see a Gunner, plus another in a full set of power armor advancing on them. Barnes was here! This was very, very not good.

The far turret kicked to life, blasting directly at Christine and MacCready.

Adrenaline exploded into their bodies and they plunged behind a broken cement barrier. Christine yanked out her only stimpak and before he could protest, stabbed it into Rob’s shoulder.

“Run Rob!”

“Like Hel…heck I will! You should have-“

BAMBAMBAM! BAM! BAM!

The turret exploded.

Christine and Rob ducked again. They looked about wildly.

BAM! BAM! BAMBAM!

A deep voice sounded off to their right, firing at the Gunners.

“Get up! I need you to get up!” he yelled. “Get up, General!”

Christine swallowed down a scream as she tried to prop herself up using her bad shoulder, the pain warring violently with her determination to best its persistent edge. Peeking around the side of the barrier, she saw a man in Gunner garb waving his rifle at her. He ducked as a shot chipped the wood protecting him, then returned fire, dropping the unarmored Gunner. His shots pinged uselessly off the power armor of the last Gunner.

“JEFFERSON YOU FUCKING COWARD I KNEW YOU WEREN”T GUNNER MATERIAL!” The Gunner’s voice rang hollowly from the power armor helmet. He opened up his minigun on Jefferson’s position. 

Christine struggled to her knees and fumbled around for her rifle. “Jefferson?” she yelled.

MacCready tried to drag her down. “What are you doing?!” he hissed. “Never trust a Gunner!”

She shoved his hands away. “I’m going to let you reflect on the irony of that statement for a minute.”

She turned back to her new ally, hoping like hell MacCready was wrong. “Jefferson, we’ll run out of bullets before that armor even gets a scratch. You have to shoot the power core that sticks out in the back. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yes Ma’am! But he’s facing us!”

“Keep him occupied, Jefferson!” 

Realizing what she was about to do a second too late, MacCready snatched at the back of her combat armor and felt his fingers just brush it as she disappeared over the top of the crumbling cement. 

“Fucking goddamn it Christine!” he yelled, opening fire on the power armored figure.

“Fusion core, Rob!”

This pain will not stop me. This pain is real but it will not stop me. It will. Not. Stop. Me. Christine vaulted over another cement barrier, then dropped to her stomach and crawled along behind the low wooden palisade that guarded the edge of the broken highway. It ended abruptly at a gaping expanse, the road previously located there two hundred years ago was now in pieces on the ground far below. 

Far, far, far below, Christine thought, peering over the edge. 

The only way past would be monkeying along the rebar and steel beams edging the rift until solid footing could be reached, thirty or so feet away.

Well shit again. She was running out of cuss words. 

“DON’T YOU DARE!” MacCready yelled.

Bullets tore through the thin fence that separated Christine from the angry human tank. She hesitated only a second before leaping. Rob shrieked.

The Gunner bellowed with satisfaction. “MACCREADY! JEFFERSON! NOW YOU DIE!”

Rob dashed angry tears away and kept firing. He had to take this guy down. Stupid goddamn Christine! Why the hell had he trusted her?! She told him they would burn down every Gunner camp in the Commonwealth and he believed her! Why the hell had he believed her?! Two people against hundreds? What was she thinking? What was HE thinking?! Duncan needed him! Goddamn it!

Dimly he noticed ‘Jefferson’ had stopped firing. Rob peeked around the edge of his shelter. 

“Jefferson!” he shouted. No answer.

Bullets slammed into the wood beside his head and he dodged again. Ducky. He was the last one. He tried to come up with an exit strategy, but there was nothing. Robert J MacCready, sniper extraordinaire, was almost out of bullets and alone against an armored Gunner.

“MACCREADY!” the Gunner yelled. “YOU REMEMBER I TOLD YOU I WAS GOING TO KILL YOU?” 

“Barnes?! You better run away now before I take you out!”

“YOU TAKE ME OUT, YOU SNEAKY LITTLE BASTARD?” Barnes laughed uproariously. “LET’S GO LITTLE F-“

SLAM! CRASH! BLANGANGANG!

Barnes cursed loudly.

Rob peeked over his barricade and his jaw dropped. Barnes was on his knees. Christine was on the pavement beside him, the remains of a broken footlocker in her bleeding hands.

She reeled as Barnes backhanded her and struggled to his feet. Turning his back on MacCready, Barnes pulled his minigun back into place, and sighted point blank on the downed woman.

“Goodbye General”, he ground out.

Christine threw her arm over her eyes as an explosion rocked the power armored figure towering above her. The armor crackled and smoked, then snapped open, spitting Barnes onto the ground behind it. Murder burning in his eyes, Barnes lunged at Christine.

A single shot snapped his head forward. A shower of blood and brains preceded the heavy thump of Barnes dead body hitting the ground beside her.

“General? General?” Jefferson shoved past the collapsed pieces of his position and raced toward Christine’s motionless body, MacCready right behind him.

“Ptooey! Pthaw! PfftpfftPTHOOT!”

“Christine! Are you okay? What’s the matter?” Rob turned to Jefferson, scrabbling at the man’s pouches. “Do you have a stimpak? Do you have a stimpak?”

Christine grabbed Jefferson with her good arm and pulled herself to a sitting position. 

“It’s…ptooey!...okay. Blood in my mouth.” She spat again, and gingerly tested her bruised jaw.

They watched her carefully. 

She saw their concerned expressions and elaborated. “Not mine.”

“Oh.”

 

Rob watched the Gunner stronghold on the Mass Pike Interchange roar into flames. Tongues of fire leapt higher and higher, shifting light and shadows across Christine’s face. It fitted her, he thought. She was the light and the dark. Killing and saving. Brilliant and stupid. Hating and loving. Death and life.

She turned to him and smiled bleakly.

Happy but sad. Killing was not in her nature, but she would do it. She had dragged him to his death and saved him. She was… confusing. But her goals were very clear.

He walked over and took her hand. “You know, as satisfying as it is to have killed Barnes and the other Gunners, and be burning this fu-stupid stronghold to the ground, I could sure stand that warm meal and medical attention you promised was waiting for us at your settlement. Ready?”

She squeezed his hand and cast a sincerely happy look at the pavement beside them.

CHRISTINE AND RJ MACCREADY WERE HERE DEATH TO GUNNERS YOU’RE NEXT

She picked up one duffel bag of the supplies they had gleaned from the Gunner’s fort before torching it. “You bet. Ready to go Jefferson? Sure you don’t want to sign this too?”

The older man was subdued as he stuffed blankets and Med-Ex into another duffel. “Ma’am, I said I wanted to be a Minuteman, not that I was good enough to be one yet.” His shoulders sagged. “I lost track of how many bullets I had left. You were counting on me to shoot out the fusion core and I couldn’t do it. You almost died because of me. If it wasn’t for Mac here shooting the power core and Barnes, you would be. I failed you. The General needed me and I failed her.”

Christine watched the grooves of sadness on his face grow deeper as he slowly stowed gear away, and she understood. Like so many other survivors, he was trying and trying to make sense of this cruel world, and find his place in it. Trying and failing, over and over.

She smiled at him. “Maybe, Jefferson. But you did other things that I didn’t ask you to do that were exactly what needed to be done, like joining our side of the fight when you could have killed us and cemented your place in the Gunners. Or keeping Barnes attention off me by making him shoot at you. You did that. You took on an armored man shooting a minigun, with only a pipe rifle, and protected by only a flimsy wooden barrier. Pretty ballsy.” 

A smile tugged at his lips.

“I believe the spirit of a Minuteman happens kind of magically,” she said with conviction. “You look around and realize you care, and you know deep down inside that your life means more than just surviving until you can find the next thing to eat. If you have that spirit, that feeling, then you’re a Minuteman. The shooting and fighting and stuff can be taught. That’s the easy part. If you think about it, Jefferson, you didn’t fail me, you gave me a win. You. A new Minuteman.”

He didn’t look up, but she didn’t miss that Jefferson’s back straightened, and his hands began packing supplies with more authority and confidence.

She squeezed Rob’s hand. “Ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

“Popsicle stand?” Jefferson’s brow furrowed. “What’s a popsicle stand?”

Rob laughed. “Yeeeah, she does that. So what is a popsicle stand, Christine? And Star Treks? And Woot?”

He stopped dead. “Wait. Jefferson, I only shot the power core. You didn’t shoot Barnes?”

“I was out of bullets, remember?”

Christine, Rob, and Jefferson stared at each other, then spun around, looking around wildly for another Minuteman, but if there had been another person, he was long gone.

“It was The Mysterious Stranger! I know it was!” MacCready was in awe. “He was right here and I missed it!”

“You have a mysterious stranger who roams the Commonwealth, randomly saving people and disappearing?”

Both Jefferson and MacCready nodded emphatically.

“So who is The Mysterious Stranger? Where the hell was he when that damn Gunner was kneeling on my arm and pointing a gun in my face?”

“Well he can’t be everywhere at once, now can he?” Rob said loftily. “And if we knew who he was, he wouldn’t be very mysterious, would he. Everyone knows about him. He’s legendary.”

“Legendary. You have urban legends but no Star Trek, or popsicle stands, or woots. I don’t know what disappoints me more.” She shook her head and started walking.

Jefferson carefully slipped the duffle from Christine’s shoulder onto his own. “I’ll get that, General.” 

“So, what IS a popsicle stand?”

 

The metal grate protecting the elevator pad screeched to a close behind the large, dark shadow that moved silently down the hallway of the deserted Vault. It stopped beside one of two comfortable chairs that were placed back-to-back, next to a table with a lamp, and a box of books. 

She had done that for him. She didn’t know him. She didn’t know the person he had been or the terrible things he had done. After listening to her speak so kindly to that man whose stupidity would have gotten her killed, giving him encouragement and support, he wasn’t sure she would care even if she did know. She was… She was…

And she jumped! Son of a bitch, she jumped! She had leapt across a gap hundreds of feet from the ground, barely catching herself on some broken metal! And crawled from one beam to the next, with a bullet in her shoulder and a hole in her leg, until she was on the other side… 

His hands and feet tingled just thinking about it.

And she dropped her damn gun, so she had to get right up behind a man in power armor and hit him with a footlocker! How the hell was he supposed to keep her safe from that? From herself?! She was the most frustrating, beautiful, idiotic, senseless, amazing, incredible…

A flower blossom dropped to her seat, and the shadow headed toward the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, looking for feedback!


	25. It Is Our Wounds That Create In Us A Desire To Reach For Miracles- Jocelyn Soriano

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rob and Christine hit Gunners Plaza, and Med-Tek.

Chapter 25

Rob cursed and pulled Christine’s limp body out of the crossfire. Mike Beckett stood in the doorway behind him and kept firing. 

Christine roused briefly “…no Rob… say heck, not…hell…” She passed out again.

Eli Jefferson brushed dirty clothes and empty food wrappers off a dilapidated couch, then stood back as MacCready gently laid their unconscious leader down. Unable to just stand there and watch, the scruffy little man found a dirty straw pillow and placed it under her feet. He offered MacCready another stimpak, then a Med-X, then a clean shirt from his pack to wipe the blood off her face.

“For crying out loud, Jefferson, Stop! She’s okay. I’ll wake her as soon as I dig this bullet out of her leg.” He went back to his work. “You’re worse than Mama Murphy, I swear.”

“But she shouldn’t be unconscious if it’s just a bullet in her leg,” Jefferson fretted.

“Yeah, I think being tossed headfirst into that wall may have had something to do with it. A-ha! There you are, you little f-booger!” MacCready crowed, flicking the metal slug out onto the floor. He shot Christine with a stimpak, then slipped half of a BuffJet tablet under her tongue. “Give her some air, Jefferson! Back up! She’ll be with us in a second-“

“AAAAAAHH!” Christine gasped and shot upright. She reeled and grabbed her head, spitting the remains of the quickly dissolving tablet onto the floor.

“PTOOEY! BLECK! Rob! I’ve told you a hundred times I hate those things!”

He handed her a can of water. “Well maybe if you stopped getting knocked out, I wouldn’t have to keep using them on you. A little limited out here, you know!”

She swished the water around her mouth, then spat it out behind the couch. “Yeah, not being knocked out is pretty high on my list too, pal. God my head hurts!”

“LET’S ROCK!” Gunners in the hallway taunted. “COME GET SOME!” 

Christine grabbed her aching skull again. "Somebody please shut those noisy bastards up! Oh my god, Rob this feels worse than that hangover I had after your last birthday party. Remember that?"

He snorted. "Yes, but not particularly clearly. As I recall, we had an all-out Gunner Deathfest then too. Four of their camps went down. With wiping out Gunner's Plaza today, that's all of them right? What are we going to do for my next birthday?"

"Kill something and drink too much. Why change the tradition now?"

Rob chuckled.

 

“Jefferson! Get over here!” Mike’s deep voice boomed from the doorway. Christine cringed.

With a relieved look at his General, Jefferson joined Mike, and the two of them disappeared up the hallway to clear the last pocket of Gunners. 

“Rock this, you stupid bastards!” Gunfire erupted, followed by Mike and Jefferson’s laughter. A turret exploded, then another.

Silence.

Mike’s head popped around the doorway. “Going scouting, Ma’am.” He vanished.

 

Christine’s eyes were squeezed shut. She gripped her head more tightly. “Next time try Love’s True Kiss, Rob. It’d be easier to wake up to.”

“You keep pulling your ‘Sleeping Beauty’ on me, next time I just might,” he said tartly. He patted her hand. “Give the stimpak a second to do its work. How’s the leg?”

Christine poked her leg, tentatively at first, then with more confidence. “I don’t feel a thing! You’re pretty talented, Doctor MacCready. I should probably be paying you extra for that.”

He grinned. “I’ll settle for my own nurse. Tall, blonde. Long legs. Big…”

“Yep. Got it. I’ll put her on your Christmas list.” 

“What’s a Christmas list?”

She struggled to free herself from the broken couch. “Remnant of a time gone by. Help me up, Doc.”

“Wait.” 

His serious tone surprised Christine. She looked at him with concern. “What’s on your mind? Are you okay? Did something happen while I was out this time?”

He smiled briefly at her “this time”. 

“No, everything is fine. It… I… Beckett and Jefferson seem to have nailing down the Plaza in hand, and… I…I was just waiting for the right time to talk to you, and I suppose this is as good a time as any…”

Christine smiled encouragingly. “Sure. Of course. Anything that’s important to you is important to me. You know that.”

Rob pushed her legs over, and sat with her on the couch, fidgeting. 

She patted his leg and waited.

Suddenly he leapt up and began pacing. “The Gunners. I stuck with them for a while because the money was good, but I never fit in. That’s why I made a clean break and started flying solo.”

She nodded. “I agree. You aren’t a Gunner, Rob. You’re too good a man.” 

Heartened, he sat back down and replaced her hand back onto his leg. He laid his on top. 

“I know I’ve told you about losing my Lucy, and saving Duncan from the ferals, but… there’s more.”

She nodded again, and made a show of bracing herself and settling in. “Ready for anything, Rob. Let ’er rip.”

Rob hesitated only a moment, then blurted out his story, words tumbling one after another like he was afraid if he paused, she’d have time to stop him. And he really, really needed her not to. 

True friends were hard to come by in the wasteland. 

“I… I need your help. Me and Duncan.”  
\---

 

BAM! BAM!

The feral ghoul erupted in a thick spatter of blood and gore.

Rob spit the nastiness from his mouth in disgust. “Could you shoot them a little sooner? Like far enough from me that I don’t end up eating their guts? Or maybe use a smaller caliber weapon?”

BAM! “You’ve got to be kidding me! You’ve got a gun too, you big baby.”

“I can’t-“ BAM! “- shoot all of them-“ BAMBAMBAM! “-at-“ BAM! “-once-“ BAM! “-now can I?” BAMBAM! Six ghouls, then the ghoul directly in front of Christine exploded.

“PTOOEY!” She spat feral gunk onto the ground and grinned. “Oh that’s how it is, huh? Challenge accepted!”

Rob sighted a feral, but didn’t fire on it until it was only feet from Christine. 

BAM! “Yes, Ma’am! Game on!”

She wiped the fresh splash of gunk from her chestplate, and flicked it at him. They began jogging for the broken stairway. 

“Is this what we are reduced to? This thirst for blood is most unsettling.” Curie reluctantly trotted behind them.

Rob stopped instantly. “No. Not it’s not a thirst, Curie. Not literally. We have to kill those things to get to Duncan’s cure. It’s a whole lot easier with three people, so we might as well have some fun while we’re at it.”

The tiny brunette wrinkled her nose. “If you say so, Monsieur MacCready. But this splashing of their bodies onto each other, it is most unsanitary.”

Rob had been delighted when Christine had insisted Curie join them on their mission to Med-Tek. A large force of Minutemen, led by the newly-promoted Captain Beckett, had been dispatched to clear Hub City Auto Wreckers- a Gunner stronghold based in an old vehicle junkyard. Escalating attacks into the nearby settlement of The Slog, had caused their leader, Wiseman, to reach out for help. Christine and Preston were upset that the settlers there hadn’t asked for help sooner. In retaliation, and in keeping with their mission to rid the Commonwealth of the Gunners, the Minuteman force had orders to kill every last Gunner, destroy all assets that couldn’t be of use to the Minutemen and their growing settlements, and raze the Gunner bastion to the ground. 

The depletion of available forces left MacCready’s mission to the Med-Tek facility to retrieve a cure that could save his son’s life, severely limited. He was fine with that though. The mission was very personal, and the possibility of losing any Minuteman lives on a personal mission, even if it was for his son, would have haunted him for the rest of his life. He knew the pain of losing someone you loved. He’d be damn-darned if he’d inflict that on someone else.

Christine, on the other hand, was his best friend. She had leaped at the chance to help save his son. Rob was fine with that too. She was an army unto herself. Having her at his side guaranteed they’d be successful. Curie had volunteered, and he had accepted her offer with pleasure. Now they were three. Together they would defeat the dozens of feral ghouls that infested Med-Tek, and had caused Rob to all but abandon his hope of ever recovering the cure and saving his son. Four times he had tried by himself. Four times he had barely made it out alive. Time may have already run out for his son, but maybe it hadn’t. This would be lucky number five. He would get the cure and get it to Duncan, or die trying.

Bringing Curie had been three-fold for Christine. After they cleared out all of the ferals, Curie could explore the facility to her heart’s content in her endless quest for new scientific and medical information. She would get more combat experience under pressure, and also provide immediate medical help if Rob or Christine got hurt. Which was very likely. Rob had wryly pointed out he hoped Christine wouldn’t find some new and exciting way to get knocked out this time.

Rob hadn’t been particularly interested in Curie the robot, the ‘Miss Nanny’ Christine had found deep in the old scientific facility behind the walls of Vault 81. She was not a child-tender, as her descriptor implied, but a medical professional, analyzing and synthesizing compounds to heal and vaccinate. Her thirst for new knowledge to correlate and study drove her to constantly…well, nag Christine to take her to meet the medical and scientific minds of this era. Their mission to Med-Tek would not be an easy one in any sense, but it was one of the very few places that she might find some much sought-after information.

Christine had shown up in Goodneighbor with Curie the robot in tow, disappeared into the Memory Den, and come out the next day with her new friend and (shhhh!) synth, Curie. Dr. Amari had been able to transfer the robot’s consciousness and memories into a brain-dead female synth, thus giving them both life. About two seconds after meeting Curie the woman, Rob had enthusiastically invited himself to join Christine’s anti-Gunner campaign again. About two seconds after that, Christine gave up trying to get a word in edgewise between Rob and Curie, as they chatted endlessly about the Commonwealth, her burgeoning emotions and impulses, his shoe size, methods of scientific research to separate perception from supported data, and both of their insistence that Curie needed a new name to officially differentiate her from the robot she had been. 

Their fledgling attachment to each other was Christine’s fourth and unvoiced, reason to bring Curie on this mission. 

Rob slung his rifle over his shoulder and reached for Curie. “Here, you’re holding your laser rifle like it’s going to bite you. Grab it. Tight. Here… and here.”

Christine smiled, watching Rob reach around Curie’s waist, and tuck her up against his chest while he demonstrated the proper technique for holding her weapon. In Christine’s time, it was a man encompassing you on the pretense of showing you how to hit the cue ball, here, men cuddle up to women showing how to shoot a gun. She shook her head. Some things were universal.

“Let’s head upstairs, guys. Curie, you think you got it?” She grinned at them innocently.

Rob shot her a stink eye, then switched back to sweetness and light for Curie. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

“And if you need medical help Monsieur MacCready, I will be here for you.”

Dear God, I’m going to barf. Rolling her eyes, Christine sprinted up the stairs, faithful Dog at her heels.

They heard the ferals before they saw them. Erratic, shambling footsteps. Hissing. Growling. Moaning. A part of Christine felt bad for these creatures. They had once been human, with lives, and families, and jobs. Homes. On the day the bombs fell, they had gone to work, just like any other day. Some looked at the clock a hundred times, wishing their shift was over so they could make the baseball game, or dinner. Some were parents, anticipating their children’s joy in Halloween, only a couple of days away, or in a panic over last-minute costume changes. If she closed her eyes, Christine could remember arguing with her brother over which candy to buy for trick-or-treaters, because they would get the leftovers once the last child rung their doorbell and departed. Christian would say he’s the oldest, therefore the chocolate could have no nuts. Christine personally liked fruity, chewy candy, but would argue in favor of nuts, just to rile him up. Mom would get three types so they could have their favorites, and Dad wouldn’t have to fight with anyone to get his preferred nutty candy. 

She smiled. This was how you could tell someone loved you. They bought too much candy, and in a kind you liked so after Halloween, you got your favorite boodle.

“Christine look out!”

Christine’s eyes snapped open, just as Rob shot the two ghouls that were almost upon her. 

“Two more for me!” he crowed proudly.

“Damn it Rob! ICK!” She wiped the gore from her face and waded into the fight.

Dog’s fierce growling turned abruptly to yelps of pain. Christine instantly saw black, and everything left her mind except to kill whatever was harming her dog. 

“DOG!” she yelled, and turned into a dervish of death. 

Feral after feral fell before her. She shot until her assault rifle’s magazine clicked on empty, then snatched the 10mm from her hip and continued to deal death without missing a beat. She dropped her empty pistol. Grabbing Cato’s combat knife from her boot, she shredded the last feral in her path.

Kicking her way through the bodies, she knelt, and carefully injected Dog with a stimpak. His whimpering slowly stopped. Dog struggled to his feet, licked Christine’s face, then growled menacingly at the dead ferals, reminding the corpses of the folly of thinking they could attack his dangerous self and get away with it. Satisfied they were now properly schooled, he licked Christine again, and swaggered off importantly.

Rob and Curie peeked around the doorway at Christine. 

“Yep.” Rob was in awe. “Berserk. Preston said you did that sometimes. Guaranteed, if someone hurt Dog, but I didn’t believe him. He’s right. You lost your mind. You started in on those ferals like some sort of killing machine. I grabbed Curie and hauled her back out of the way by me. Did you even see us? Did you remember where we were? Jeez, Christine!”

Christine plopped down onto the floor, exhausted. “Oh my god guys, I’m so sorry! I didn’t think-“

“Yeah. Preston said that was a big part of it. You brain shuts off and your body takes over. He said to just stand back and wait for you to slow down. He also said it’s getting worse, and to keep an eye on you. Just sayin’.”

He tried to look stern as Christine pinned him with what he called her ‘General Face’. Intense, cold, unreadable, he knew from experience that she was sifting whatever offensive information he had just given her for its validity, or lack thereof. If she accepted it, she would simply move on. If it had no positive merit, shadows of that terrifying smile would ghost across her face until she came to a decision. He let out an audible sigh of relief when she nodded once, and abruptly turned away.

“General, I do not think this is a safe thing you do.” Curie injected a stimpak into Christine’s arm. “Did you notice you were bleeding, Madame? See? Dog, he is fine. Now you are.”

Curie turned to face Rob. “Are we ready to continue, Monsieur MacCready?”

Rob found her unquestioning confidence in him extremely satisfying. “There should be an executive terminal up here.” he said, starting up a ramp created by a broken section of the ceiling. “With the password Sinclair gave me, we should be able to cancel the lockdown and get into the lower levels to Duncan’s cure. And please stop calling me Monsieur MacCready. Call me Rob, like Christine does.” He took the lead.

“I shall be delighted to do so, Monsieur Mac …Rob.”

Christine trailed along behind the little lovebirds, checking desks, shelves, and medicine chests, her reloaded gun held at the ready.

Curie watched her closely. “Why do you take so many things, Christine? You look into all of the drawers, all of the boxes. Is that not a heavy load? What will you do with it all?”

“Yeah,” Rob chimed in. “Is any of that really valuable?”

“It’s all useful in one way or another. Everything has value to the right person. Some gets sold, some gets gutted for parts, and some gets used, like this hairbrush-“

“But it is dirty!”

“If I clean it out, then sterilize it in hot water, it’s usable again, right?”

“You are right! It would be clean, and a new person could use it! I think many people could use a clean hairbrush of their own. Many people have the untidy hair.”

Christine chuckled. “Yeah, Monsieur MacCready especially.”

“Hey!” Rob looked up from the terminal. “I brushed it Wednesday!”

Curie eyed him thoughtfully.

“Curie why are you staring at me? It’s not that bad. Is it?” He self-consciously patted the hair sticking out from under his cap, feeling for anything that might be conspicuously out of place.

“Oh no, not at all. It looks like a very nice dust storm patted you on the head. With great affection.” She added guilelessly.

Christine looked away so Rob wouldn’t see her struggling to stifle her laughter. He eyed her shaking shoulders with disgust and went back to working at the terminal.

Curie was confused. “Have I offended you? I did not mean to. I like your hair very much.”

Rob raised an eyebrow at her and resumed his work.

She came around the desk to stand at his side. “You are searching for another name to call me, because Curie reminds you too much of the robot I was, before you and Christine helped me into this body.” She gestured to herself. “When you said ‘Wednesday’, I remembered that the French word ‘Mercredi’ means Wednesday. MacCready, Mercredi, they sound almost the same. So you may call me Wednesday, if you like.”

Rob paused, then stopped typing and turned to her, an unreadable look on his face. He took her hands. “I would be honored to call you Wednesday. I think it’s a fine name.”

“Thank you. I am now Wednesday, named for the day you brush your hair.”

Christine choked and fled out the door. 

Rob threw a flat look after her. He squeezed Wednesday’s hands and went back to work.

Curie pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Or you can call me ‘Mo Chridhe’. It too sounds like MacCready. They are words in Gaelic that mean ‘My Heart’. You make me feel so many things, they are so confusing, but I like them. Or maybe I shall call you that, because you are my heart, and this is what I feel. Do you think Christine is okay?”

Rob threw a battered clipboard through the doorway, and was gratified to hear Christine’s smothered laughter stop abruptly with a grunt as it hit her.

Dog barked joyously and brought a baseball for Rob to throw for him.

“Bring it to Christine, Dog.” he grumbled crossly. “She could stand the practice. Brat throws like a darn girl. HA! PASSWORD WORKED!”

“Oh look! Data entries!”

Rob let out a strangled gasp.

“See this?” Wednesday hugged Rob in her excitement. “The experiments resulted in hair loss and pustules, but later in four hour erections! I have not heard of this before. I think that would be a good thing, yes? I wonder if it would be uncomfortable for the man. Monsieur MacCready, do you think-‘

“AIRLOCK IS OPEN! WE CAN GET INTO THE SUB-LEVELS NOW!” Rob turned his furiously blushing face to the doorway and ran.  
\---

 

Wednesday eyed the remains of the four ferals that had attacked them as soon as they had entered the testing atrium.

“And again with the killing.” She sighed. “This is so unsanitary. Why would these doctors be testing on ghouls? Their blood has been conclusively proven to be corrupted. Look! Another set of handcuffs. I have thirteen now. Why would you suppose they needed so many?”

“Who knows? Torture? Restraint? Party favors? And I’m pretty sure they weren’t ghouls when testing began,” Rob said. “I think we’re looking at two hundred year old test subjects. Stand back.” He threw a full toolbox at a cell window, with every ounce of strength he had. 

Wednesday stepped in to examine the damage. “This glass, it did not even scratch. You cannot break the window, Christine cannot pick this lock. How will we get in?”

Christine’s irritated voice drifted down to them from the security office overlooking the cells. “Well, shit. I have the answer, but you’re not going to like it. Come see this.”

Rob and Wednesday ran into the office to where Christine had been diligently hacking the security protocols. They looked over her shoulder at the terminal.

“You got in! Great! Open the cell on the lower level so we can drop down through the hole in the floor to the next sub-level.”

“Not going to be that simple, Rob.” she grumbled. “The command to open cell doors individually isn’t responding. We’re going to have to use the emergency release, which opens every single door at once.”

Wednesday looked at her in horror. “But that will mean sixteen test subjects will be released at the same time! I do not think they will be happy. They have been in their cells for more than two hundred years. They may attack us. I think this will be even too much for you, Christine, if we have Dog go first so you can do your berserking.”

“I think it’s a pretty good bet they’ll attack us.” Rob turned away angrily and kicked the doorframe. His frustration was palpable. “I can’t believe we’re so close! Every time I tried to do this myself, I never even got past the room you went crazy on those ferals in. They almost killed me. But you’re with me now, you’re both with me, then this happens, and we’re so d-dang close!”

Christine rose from behind the terminal and patted his back soothingly. “It’s okay, Rob. We’ll figure this out.”

“Yes,” said Wednesday brightly. “I have many sets of handcuffs. And maybe the Protectron down there can be of assistance?”

Christine let Rob slip out from under her hand and stomp away. His frustration was so heavy, she could feel it. 

She turned to the petite brunette with a frustrated sigh. “No, Wednesday. The minute we start firing, it will see us as enemies and attack us too. And those two turrets are on the same activation command as the Protectron is, so we’d have to contend with them shooting at us as well. I don’t think your handcuffs will be enough either, but it was nice of you to offer them.”

Dog barked excitedly.

“As you wish, Madame. Here, I shall follow Dog to whatever treasure he has found this time. Maybe it will be an answer to our problem. Or a gun. Or a stimpak. Or a teddy bear. They are all of value to the right person. Or dog.” She trotted off.

“Sure would be nice if we had some grenades, don’t you think?” Christine watched Rob kick another wall. “Or mines. Mines would be fabulous.” He didn’t answer.

Rob felt like crying. He had tried to retrieve the cure for his son four times before today, each time barely escaping with his life. There were too many ferals for one man to kill alone, and he had the scars to prove it. This time though, he had Christine with him for firepower backup, and as a bonus, Wednesday was a medical professional. She was like a walking stimpak. Together, they had cut through dozens of ferals, and progressed almost to the bowels of the Med Tek facility, where the cure for his son lay. It was almost with his grasp! They were so close. They were so darn close!

He felt Christine’s presence move in behind him. “We’ll figure it out.” she repeated confidently. “We’re not leaving here without that cure. I promise you that.”

He turned to face her, angry conviction radiating from him like a small sun. “You’re darn right. I will get that cure for Duncan this time, even if it kills me. If I don’t make it, get the cure to Daisy in Goodneighbor. She owes me one. She’ll make sure it gets to Duncan.” He gave her a tight smile. “Everyone dies someday.”

Christine frowned. “I’ll promise, but you’re not going to-“

“Madame!” Wednesday’s cheerful voice interrupted them.

Dog capered up the steps with a teddy bear in his mouth and danced around Christine. Wednesday ran up to them breathlessly, carrying another. “Dog is very happy! He has found two bears. He has also found these, but I do not think they will prove to be of use.” She held out two cones of cotton yarn, and a bottle of whiskey. “He is a very clever dog.”

Christine’s jaw fell open. “Rob, today is not your day to die. This is exactly what we need, Wednesday!”

They stared at her blankly.

“I’m serious, guys. Here’s the plan…”

\---

 

CLANG! The doors for all sixteen cells opened.

Sixteen ferals poured out, spotted Christine and Rob, and shambled toward them, screeching and hissing.

And fell. And got up. And fell again. 

BAMBAM! BAM! BAM! BAMBAMBAM! BAM! Six died within seconds of their release.

Wednesday’s laughter mixed with Dog’s excited barking, to create apt background music to the unexpected hilarity taking place outside the security office.

BAM! BAMBAM! BAM! The mindless ghouls continued to fall under Christine and Rob’s relentless onslaught.

Two cones worth of cotton yarn had been strung back and forth between the supports, handrails, and broken furniture that lined the security atrium. The ferals had dashed from their cells only to find themselves snarled in a huge web.

One feral caught his toes and fell to the floor, rightened himself, and tripped on another string. Another flipped backwards, clotheslined across his neck. As he rose, Rob blew his head off. Three were hopelessly tangled on the stairway, thrashing and wailing, unable to move. One bounced off of a waist-high string, got back to his feet, bounced off it again, got back up again, and ran into it again. 

Rob and Christine cleared everything that moved on the upper level first, then used their advantage of height to fire down into the jumble of confused ferals below. Within minutes, all sixteen ghouls were dead.

Wednesday came out of the security office, clapping with delight. Dog pushed past her. Cavorting around Christine’s knees, he continued to bark with excitement, then galloped over to Rob. He leaped up against Rob’s chest, slobbered his friend’s face, then ran back to dance around Christine again.

“Madame, Monsieur, that was very funny to see! I think I must find a restroom now.”

Rob wiped his face with the back of his hand, dog slobber mixing with his tears of laughter. Unable to stop laughing, he patted Christine on the shoulder. He drew a breath to speak, then shook his head and collapsed into merriment again.

Christine was bent over, her hands braced on her knees, laughing so hard she was silent, except for occasionally dragging in another deep breath before being overcome by her silent guffaws again. She waved a hand back at him and nodded, barely able to get any words out herself.  
“I’ve never…seen…confusion…on a ferals face…before! That was…that was…-“ And off she went again.  
\---

 

Twenty minutes later, Rob, Christine, and Wednesday stared through the window of the final laboratory with irritation, disgust, and curiosity, respectively. Three ordinary feral ghouls, and one very large and extremely violent bloated, glowing ghoul were slavering against the other side of the glass, mindlessly trying to reach what they most assuredly thought was their next meal.

“I think this is a good plan.” Wednesday hefted the bottle in her hand. “I have never used whiskey before. Will I become drunk?”

“Not this time. We’ll have to work on that later.” Christine surveyed her troops one last time. Four ghouls would usually not be a problem for three people, but that huge and highly irradiated one was a sincere game-changer. “You concentrate your fire on that bloated glowing one, Rob. I’ll shoot down anything that comes through the flames. Ready Wednesday?”

“But of course.” Without waiting for the signal to start, she hit the ‘Open Door’ command on the terminal, and smashed her whiskey Molotov in front of the door that led into the lab where Duncan’s cure lay.

Christine could barely see through the flames. Backing away rapidly, she fired at some movement, hoping she’d hit one of the four ferals they had been able to see through the laboratory windows. 

Another came rushing through the wall of flames, directly at Wednesday, who was holding Dog back. She shrieked and threw her arms up to protect her face from the flaming apparition.

Released, Dog leaped directly at the burning feral, knocking it down. He growled and snarled, shaking his head side to side to rip out chunks of flesh, heedless of the fire that was hungrily expanding to his shaggy fur. Christine shrieked.

Afraid of accidentally shooting her beloved dog, Christine tossed her rifle to Wednesday, and threw herself into the burning jumble. Pressing her pistol to the ghouls head, she fired.

Dimly, she heard Rob yelling for Wednesday to grip her gun more tightly. Oblivious to whatever followed, Christine scrubbed and smacked at Dog’s fur, trying desperately to extinguish the flames. She cursed her armor. Any clothes she could have ripped off of herself to smother the flames with were secured to her body by it, and would take too many precious moments to unbuckle. She cast about, looking for something, anything to put out the flames. 

Another flaming ghoul hit her from behind, knocking her directly onto Dog. The putrid, burning, living corpse scrabbled at her unprotected neck. Dog’s cries changed to violent snarls as he clawed his way over Christine and sunk his fangs into its face. 

She screamed in frustration. She was unable to move, pinned down by the combined weight of Dog and the feral. Thrashing and kicking, she managed to roll over, freeing her hands, just as a huge, rotting piece of canvas fell over the writhing, burning pile of Dog, feral, flames, and Christine, blocking out the light and air. One heavy weight, then another slammed down on her. 

Can’t…breathe… 

As the darkness closed in, Christine prayed Rob had been able to grab Duncan’s cure and run.  
\---

 

Voices were arguing above her head. Someone was very sloppily wiping her face with a warm, wet cloth.

“She must take a vacation. He brain must be very unhappy with the number of times it has been sent to sleep before it was ready to-“

“She’ll never do it.”

“She must.”

“She won’t.”

The wet cloth was scrubbed across Christine’s face again. A small, hard weight dropped on her chest, then something cold and wet poked her in the neck.

“Okay, okay, I’m up,” Christine muttered.

“WOOWOOWOOWOOF! WOOF! WOOF!”

Dog jumped up and stomped all over his beloved friend, overjoyed to see her wake up. She could throw the ball now! He snuffled it out from between Christine and the back of the couch and dropped it on her chest again.

He cocked his head. It was such a funny sleep she did sometimes, on the floor or couch instead of in her bed. It was nicer when she was on the floor, then he could curl up beside her. There was no room on the couch, and when he did jump up and try to make himself comfortable on top of Christine, everyone yelled and made him sit back on the floor. 

It was okay though. He knew they didn’t understand that his most important job was to protect Christine. Every Good Dog knows the right way to take care of their best friend when she sleeps was to be touching her somewhere. Dog was usually able to keep his nose on her leg, or push his head under her hand, even if they wouldn’t let him sit right up there with her.

But this time was very special! The new man who smelled like guns, patted the couch and told Dog to jump right up! He even laughed and told Dog to give Christine big kisses, right on her face! 

“AAAAAAAAAAACK! FTHOOOO! GOOD GOD! FPOOOTH!” 

She was awake! Dog turned two circles right there on her belly, and gave her his very best kisses again. Wait! She needed a bear! Bears were happy things! He loved to make Christine happy.

Dog jumped off of his friend, grabbed one of his treasured bears from the small woman who was a friend but made too many hurts with her needles, and leaped back up onto Christine. He pushed the bear against her face, so she could grab it in her teeth, and shake it around if she wanted to.

“UUUMPF! GFUMMPHUMF…DOG!...FUMMMBUMFUMF…COME ON!...HELPMMMFFUMMFBB!”

Dog barked happily and thumped his butt down, trying to sit on Christine’s struggling body. He got his face as close as he could to Christine’s, and waited excitedly for her eyes to open again. 

One squinted eye tentatively opened and focused on him. 

“WOOF!” Dog licked her face, jumped off Christine’s stomach, jumped back up, then off, then back up again. He waited. She would peek out again soon, he just knew it. This was the best game! Even better than chasing balls! He poked her in the neck with his cold nose.

Christine’s muffled voice leaked out from under the slobber- covered teddy bear that was jammed up against her face. “Rob? Wednesday? I can see Dog is okay now. OOOF! Get off you great moose! Can you…I…I need someOOF…help. Did we get the cure for Duncan?”

They went off into fresh gales of laughter, as Dog wedged his nose under the bear and woofed into Christine’s face.

Rob rumpled Dog’s fur affectionately. 

“Well, you wanted Love’s True Kiss instead of a BuffJet tablet! Dog’s love is truer than any love on the planet. And it did wake you up nicely. Now either Dog goes everywhere you go, or you stop getting knocked out. That’s the deal.”

“Fair enough. I am so sick to death of being knocked unconscious. I really need to find someone to teach me better close-quarters combat.”

She struggled to sit up. “So did you get it? Was the cure there? Did you find Duncan’s cure?”

Rob’s beaming face was all the answer she needed. He held up the small syringe.   
\---

 

Daisy’s leathery mouth dropped open. It wasn’t often the clever ghoul was at a loss for words. Anyone who knew her could probably count the number of times on one hand. But here was MacCready, standing tall, right in front of her, holding out the cure to Duncan’s disease. He’d gone after it so many times before, and every time ended up in her back room perforated by stimpak needles, and having feral bite and slash marks sewn up. 

This time, he had finally succeeded.

She shook her head disbelievingly. “Oh my God! That’s wonderful news! How did you do it? Last time you tried, the ferals almost chewed you to bits!

“I didn’t do it alone, Daisy.” Rob smiled at Wednesday and Christine. “My friends here got me through Med-Tek. Now all I need to do is get the cure into Duncan’s hands. Can you help me?”

“Of course, MacCready. You’ve saved my behind more than once, it’s the least I can do. I’ll get it on the first caravan leaving the Commonwealth. The driver owes me a few favors and he’s reliable.”

Wednesday stared at Rob. “You are leaving me already? No, this is wrong. I will go with you.”

“It’s okay, Wednesday. I’m not going anywhere.”

“WHAT?!” Christine grabbed Rob’s arm. “After everything you went through to get that cure, you’re just going to hand it to someone else to hopefully get it to him? You’re not going to give it to him yourself? You’re not going back to your son? He’s been without his daddy all this time! Whoever you left him with has probably been assuring him you’ll be back for him one day, and here you are, not even bringing him the cure that will save his life?! Son of a bitch! Robert Joseph MacCready, you get your ass into that caravan! You help protect that cure and you make sure it gets into his body!”

“Christine, you don’t under-“

Christine was spitting mad. “And you hold his hand and tell him you love him, whether the cure works or not! If he dies, he needs to go knowing his daddy loves him. And if he lives, he needs to know his daddy loves him. He needs you to teach him how to shoot and throw a baseball and be nice to girls and patch him up when he hurts himself and sit in your lap when he cries-“

“Stop! I can’t-“

“NO! NO! I WILL NOT STOP! I woke up to this world and my family was GONE! They’ll never come back. Do you understand? Never! And I wake up with that knowledge every single morning! Duncan needs to wake up one morning and find you there! Because you can be! You’re his family Rob!” Tears spilled onto her cheeks. “You have no idea what I would do if it meant I could have my family back! You’re not a Gunner anymore! You’re a good man, one Duncan can be proud to know is his father-“

“STOP, CHRISTINE!” he thundered, shocking her into silence. “You don’t understand, Christine. I’m dead.”

“What? You’re right here. And Duncan needs-“

“To Duncan, his father is dead. I ran out of that subway station with my son in my arms, but I left behind the woman I loved with all of my heart, the mother of my child, to be torn apart and eaten by feral ghouls. She was still screaming when I ran. Duncan was crying for his mama, and Lucy was screaming, and I knew I had to get our son out of there before the ferals could get him. We barely made it. But I left her behind. I left her. She was still alive enough to be screaming my name and begging me to make them stop. She cried, and pleaded, and screamed for me to help her, to save her. And the ghouls were growling and grunting and snarling and I could hear them ripping her apart. She screamed for me one last time, and her voice gurgled and choked off. And then Duncan and I were gone. Up into the Hell of the Commonwealth above ground. But nothing up here can hold a candle to the Hell in my head.”

Daisy, Wednesday, Christine, and every person around them stood motionless, wrapped in his story, stunned by the raw agony in his voice. 

“I remember everything, Christine. I hear her screaming for me even now. I hear them ripping out chunks of her flesh. I hear her terrible, last plea for me to help her, and the sound of them tearing out her throat. I hate them. Their eyes, their stupid, mindless hunger. She was the most beautiful, wonderful person in this whole damn miserable world, and of all the men she could have had, she chose me. She loved me. Those stupid bastards were too senseless to have even cared that they were killing the most precious gift this world had ever given Duncan and me. She was just another meal to them. When I face ferals like the ones in Med-Tek, I have to keep from throwing myself at their feet, and begging them to devour me in the most painful, horrible way possible. It would release me, Christine. Maybe make me worthy enough to find my Lucy again somewhere.”

He held her eyes. “After that, I was not the father Duncan needed. I was not…anything. Lucy’s brother and his wife took Duncan in. They’re the ones that care for him, and give him the love he needs. They’re his parents now. All Duncan knows, is that his real mom and dad were killed in the Commonwealth. He doesn’t remember us. We’re just a story to him, not even real people. He doesn’t need me to show up and confuse him. And what if he wanted to know why I left him? Can you see that conversation bringing him anything but hurt? No, Christine, I’m not bringing the cure to Duncan.”

Trembling in his pain, Robert Joseph MacCready put his hands in his ragged pockets, nodded to Daisy, and walked purposefully to the Third Rail bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My new friends, thank you so much for sticking with me, and giving me honest feedback. 
> 
> I'll be out of the net for a couple weeks, then back on it. 
> 
> As always, please leave your thoughts.


	26. Ask yourself what is really important, and then have the courage to build your life around the answers- anon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fearsome hangover, a secret handshake, the Memory Trees, and one of Christine's best crazy ideas.

Chapter 26

A single ray of bright midmorning sunshine fought its way through the grimy window of Room 14 at the Hotel Rexford, and pounced gleefully on Rob’s face. He groaned and rolled over. Burrowing his face under her leg, he tried to reason with the nausea that was fighting his heartfelt desire to go back to sleep. 

Her…leg? Whoa. Who…?

He rolled back over and dragged his eyes open, blearily trying to identify his bed companion in the light of that single demented ray of sunshine.

Images of the previous night jumbled around, torturing his exhausted mind with its parade of disjointed snippets. He remembered yelling at Christine, then heading into the Third Rail with the unwavering resolution to get blisteringly, thoroughly, and immediately drunk. In that pursuit, he had been very, very successful.

He remembered Magnolia stopping mid-song to walk him to the bar. He must have looked pretty bad. Concern had oozed from her gentle heart in that irritatingly motherly way that seemed to overwhelm her whenever she saw him. The sensual, beautiful singer had a voice that could coax even the most strait-laced man to blush, and the curves to make him have good reason to. It drove Rob crazy, and in a way that had nothing motherly about it. Mags had stayed by his side most of the evening, he recalled. She had matched him drink for drink, until Ham had to carry her unconscious body to her room. He remembered yelling at Christine again.

Hawthorne had wandered over, bought him a few more drinks, and fed him some hokey stories about mirelurks and ghouls, and the terrible dangers he had overcome, barely escaping with his life. Rob had snorted at his friend’s ‘danger’. Rob and Christine attacked mirelurks, ghouls, and worse, and on purpose. Nothing out there in the Commonwealth scared Rob anymore, especially with Christine backing him up. Hawthorne hadn’t taken his insults well, and they had a spectacular fight. Rob vaguely recalled chairs breaking, bottles flying, patrons surging and crashing around him, the delightful music of screams, yells, and curses flying high and loud, and Hawthorne lying on the floor, out cold from one of Christine’s tight uppercuts. Lovely Irma from the Memory Den had come down the stairs, ready for her evening cocktail after a busy day of lounging on her velvet divan. She had taken one look at the bedlam and headed right back up the stairs again. Rob quite clearly remembered the flat disapproval on her face as a bottle he had thrown smashed on the wall beside her. He supposed he’d have to apologize to her later. She’d forgive him. She always did. 

Ham had brought the fracas to a screeching halt, and removed Hawthorne’s unconscious body. Rob had yelled at Christine again.

Rob remembered being sprawled on a couch in the Old State House with Hancock and Fahrenheit. He screwed up his face trying to cajole the conversation from his memory. He recalled Hancock passing him inhaler after inhaler of Jet, rambling on about the difference between the futility of drinking to forget, and the far superior result of drugs being taken to a judicious extreme. Too few, you relived your pain vividly. Too many, you overdosed. Hancock congratulated Rob on choosing Air Hancock for all of his flight needs, and passed him another hit of Jet. The last thing Rob remembered was Christine stopping Hancock, and Rob yelling at her.

A gentle hand stroked his hair. Rob buried his face against her leg again. Something conked sharply him on the head.

“HEY!” he yelled angrily, then gripped his head, unsure if the painful throbbing was from the book that had hit him, or his pounding hangover.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, oh Rob, I’m so sorry-“

Christine. Of course. Who else fights their way across the Commonwealth with a book in their pack? No sane person he could think of. 

Okay, so maybe he had an Unstoppables comic book in his pack. Or six. But that was different. 

She had probably been sitting next to him on the bed the whole night.

“Go away,” he grumbled.

“No, I… Rob, I am so sorry. For forgetting I had the book in my hand, for getting angry with you, for making you relive that… that…”

“Chris-“

“Rob, I was so wrong. I’m so sorry to have made you hurt. In your heart. In your head too, actually, but that was kind of and accident. You can yell at me some more if you like. Honestly though, you can’t say anything or call me anything worse than I haven’t already told myself.”

“Chris-“

“No, it’s okay Rob. You can hate me forever like you said. I understand. “

“Chris-“

“That’s all I needed to say. I’ll leave now. Kent Connolly and Rufus have jobs ready, so you won’t be out of work. Bobbi did too, but something about her just isn’t right. I’d steer clear of anything she wants.” Christine retrieved her book and tried to flatten the bent pages from its unanticipated crash. She struggled to extricate herself from the thin tangle of rusty springs and torn fabric that could only loosely be termed a bed. “It really has been wonderful getting to know you,” she said sadly. “You’re a pretty special guy. Take care of yourself out there-“

“CHRISTINE!” Rob wrapped one arm around his aching head, and groped for her with the other. “Don’t…don’t go. It’s okay.”

He felt her stillness. “Are…are you sure?” she said in a small voice.

“Of course. You’re my friend. Heck, you’re my family. And I’m pretty sure I’ll say something that hurts you eventually. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“Oh Rob! I’m so sorry! Of course I would! I’m so glad! God, I was missing you already.” She hopped back onto the bed and stretched to hug him. The book slid from her arms as she reached out, and dropped onto his head again. 

“OWWWW! Jeez Christine! Put that stupid book away already!”

“I’m sorry! Oh I am so sorry Rob!” She tossed the book toward the chair. It missed the chair entirely, and landed on the floor with a loud thump. Rob groaned.

“Chris! Stop bouncing the bed and stop making loud noises! Please! You’re killing me here!” He pulled the pillow over his head.

“Oh my god Rob! I’m sorry!” She climbed gingerly off the bed and reached for the book.

“Leave it on the floor.” His muffled voice commanded from under the pillow.

She snatched her hand back. “Okay. I’m sorry, Rob.”

“And stop saying you’re sorry. You’re driving me crazy.”

“Okay. Sor… okay.”

“And shut the stupid curtain. Do we have anything to eat?” he asked plaintively. “I think some food will help settle my stomach.”

Christine leaped up. “Yes! I mean no. I mean okay, hang on a sec. I’ll go get something.”

He grimaced as she shut the curtain, then smacked her shin on the bed in the dark and clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle her loud cursing. The door opened, clicked shut, and the key rattled in the lock. He breathed a sigh of relief. 

He returned the pillow to beneath his head, and fell back asleep almost immediately. But this time he didn’t see his wife dying, or hear her screaming. 

Lucy hummed as she stirred something on the stove. It smelled wonderful. Duncan came running into the little house, a muddy, howling, pint-sized tornado that bounced off Rob’s legs, yelled up at his dad, and continued his path of destruction out the other door. Sammi, Duncan’s puppy, galumphed right behind him. The two always brought a smile to Rob’s lips. All uncoordinated arms and legs, they were at times one and the same. 

Lucy’s blue eyes twinkled as she hugged him. “You helped Shaw fix the fence, didn’t you?” It was more a statement than a question.

Rob pulled her against his chest and kissed her soundly. “Yes I did.”

“I knew you would. You can’t stay mad at anyone.”

He snorted. “Can too.”

“Can not.”

“I can get mad at you right now for being such a know-it-all.”

“But could you stay mad at me?”

“Well…no, but-“

“Ha! See? I knew it!” 

Rob kissed the dimple flashing in her cheek. “Oh yeah? Do you know what I’m going to do next?” He scooped her up in his arms and headed for the bedroom.

“Oh I do hope so!”

He grinned and kicked the door shut behind him.

Rob hugged his pillow tighter, a smile echoing the one in his dream. He had never slept so peacefully.

 

“SHE DID WHAT?! CHRISTINE, WHY DIDN”T YOU WAKE ME UP?!”

“Rob, it’s okay. Daisy said the caravaners are trustworthy. She had no hesitation letting Wednesday go with them. And even if Daisy had been screaming for her not to go, Wednesday was determined to.”

Rob snorted. “Determined like only a woman could be. Determined women are going to be the death of me.”

“I’m not going to slug you for that crack because it’s damn true. A smart man is going to be on at the side of a determined woman every time.” Christine smiled with satisfaction. “But listen to me for a sec, Rob. She and I talked rather extensively about it, while you and Magnolia were boozing it up-“

“Hey! We were not boozing it up.”

Christine snickered. “Yeeeaaah…”

“Well maybe we were boozing it up a little.”

She lifted an eyebrow.

“OKAY! We were boozing it up a lot. You never drank to forget? What do you call it?”

Christine laughed. “We had more names for it than I could count. Drink Drank Drunk, Blotto’d, Three Sheets to the Wind, Schnockered, Shitfaced, Loaded, Plastered, Totaled, Inebriated, Juiced, Soused, Tanked, Crocked, Smashed, Under the Influence, Stewed, Looped, Blitzed, Hammered, Tanked, Fucked Up-“

“Okay, I get it. And I think you may have said Tanked twice. Mags and I were pursuing a ‘Tanked’ state with purpose, while you and Wednesday said what exactly?”

“In a nutshell, Wednesday wanted to deliver the vaccine to Duncan, and administer it personally. She IS a medical professional, and the serum is the only one of its kind. She said that for you to have gone through everything you did to get it for him, then have it damaged along the way or administered incorrectly would have broken your heart, and she couldn’t bear the thought of that. And she wanted to assess Duncan’s condition for herself. She’s also staying for a bit to watch his healing, if it does indeed work. Which it will,” she added hastily, as Rob’s face clouded.

He nodded and reached for another mutfruit. “She won’t mention that I was involved, right?”

“Rob, she heard your story too. Wednesday respects you a great deal. She would never do anything to jeopardize something that matters to you as much as this does. When she gets back, take her on a vacation to Nordhagen or something, and sit on the sand and just talk. It’ll be okay. I know it will.”

“Christine, not to change the subject, buuuut I really need to change the subject. What are the Minutemen going to do now? The Castle and Radio Freedom are up and running, settlements are happening everywhere, search and destroy patrols are scheduled out, everyone is getting trained and armed…” He broke off as Christine silently got to her feet and cocked her 10mm. She rolled her hand in a ‘keep talking’ gesture and slid to the door.

“… protected provisioner routes, most of the Gunners wiped out. People are beginning to believe in the Minutemen again. The Commonwealth seems to be starting to gain some momentum, but what are we going to focus on n-”

Christine yanked the door open, grabbed the shadowy figure lurking just outside it, and threw it on the floor next to the bed. She slammed the door. She kicked the figure twice, then stood over it, pistol poised to fire instantly.

“Who the fuck are you, and who taught you such shitty manners? You want something from us, you get your balls together and ask.”

“Hmmg! Ummagunfung um fummebef!”

“Hey,” Christine shoved him roughly with her foot, incensed. “I’d be able to understand you if you could get your knees out of your mouth.”

The man cautiously uncurled himself. “Yeah, well, so this is happening!”

It was the bald drifter.

Christine grinned smugly. “I knew I knew you from somewhere. Or should I say everywhere.”

The man carefully got up and felt himself for injuries. “You have not. I haven’t been everywhere.”

“I’d be willing to bet you have.”

He eyed the bed with a grin. “Oh Queen of the Commonwealth, there’s one place I haven’t been…”

Rob cocked his pistol.

“Okay, okay!” The enigmatic man held up his hands as if to ward them both off. “No insult intended! I mean, I like to think I was offering a pretty good thing there. At least that’s what I’ve been told. Or I’ve been telling myself. Or telling others. Or what I heard. I think. So, nice place you’ve got here.”

Christine checked a patient sigh and put away her gun. “Name. Now.”

A big grin split his face. “Great! See? We’re all friends now here. Bring it on in. C’mon!”

He all but danced over to Christine, and reached out to hug her, but quickly withdrew as her pistol reappeared instantly, the muzzle jammed into the center of his chest. Rob rose quickly from the bed behind him and pressed his own gun to the man’s back. Caught between the two, the man went to his own big guns- his charm.

“Wow! You two are a hell of a team! Pinned by Beauty and the Beast. I was almost worried there, but I can see you’re just using your very formidable killing machine technique to intimidate me, and intimidated I am! I’m one of the luckiest people in the Commonwealth, to be able to learn from your teachings in person, rather than by rumor. Blessed even-“

“Oh my God!” Christine said with exasperation, punctuating each word with a poke of her gun. “Just. Tell. Me. Your. Name.”

“Deacon.” He stuck out his hand. She ignored it, and propelled him backwards with the muzzle of her gun until the back of his legs hit the chair and he collapsed into it.

“What do you want, Deacon?”

”MacCready, how long are you going to let her bully me like this?” he implored plaintively.

Rob was grinning ear to ear. “As long as she wants to. I’d like to see her kick you again. That was pretty great.”

Christine swung her gun over to point at Rob, then holstered it in disgust. “Oh for Pete’s sake. I’m seriously tempted to. Right after I kick you!”

“Now there’s something I’d like to see. You kicking MacCready, I mean. I think I’ve already met my daily recommended allowance of being kicked. Who’s Pete?”

This time, Christine didn’t bother to conceal her sigh. “I’m working with children. Okay boys, spill. Everything. Now.”

‘His name is Deacon.”

“I got that part, Rob.”

“And he’s a spy for the Railroad.”

“Spy is such a strong word, my friend. I prefer to call myself an ‘Observer’.”

“The Railroad. I’ve heard that mentioned before.” Christine pointed at Deacon. “You. Tell me about the Railroad.”

“Is she always this cranky?”

“I prefer to call it ‘Patiently Not Killing Someone’. Stop pissing her off and answer, Deacon.”

“Okay, okay. The Railroad is a secret organization-“

Rob snickered. “Very secret. As in secret decoder rings and secret handshakes and secret passwords and stuff, Chris.”

“MacCready!” Deacon looked affronted. “Do not mock my chosen profession. I am a god among spies. The Railroad is lucky to have me. And I invented the secret handshake myself.”

“Oh yeah? Does it go like this?” Rob smacked Deacon on the back of the head.

“I think this is the proper technique.” Deacon socked Rob in the arm. Rob returned the punch, and swung out with another slap. Deacon swatted it away, following it with another smack. In a matter of seconds, Christine found herself watching two grown men having a little girl sissy slap fight. 

Christine smartly cracked their heads together

And left.

The boys watched the door close behind her in surprise.

Deacon was astonished. “Is she always like this?”

Christine’s voice drifted down the hallway. “No, but sometimes I feel inspired. You want to see what we’re doing next? I’ve got a very important job for you two. Let’s go, boys!”

“Just be glad she hasn’t dragged us into a fight yet this morning.” Rob grinned.

“I noticed that about her.”

“You better have, oh God of Spies.” Rob brushed off his hands and went out the door after Christine.

Deacon jumped up and followed. “God of Spies,” he mused. “I need that on a t-shirt. Lead on my Queen!”

 

Cain stood in the shadows of the Red Rocket, by Sanctuary. 

Garvey, Deacon, and MacCready shoveled dirt onto the grave of the last victim of Vault 111, then stood together under the trees, quietly watching Christine.

She was wandering the grove across from the Red Rocket. She knelt and wrote a name on a stone, and added it to the rest of the marked stones ringing the base of a large, dead tree. Rising, she hung a chain with two rings on another tree, then tied on a strip of fabric from a dead Minuteman’s jacket, still dotted with the brave man’s dried blood. Sets of dog tags tapped against each other in the warm breeze, filling the air with gentle chimes. A mobile of sticks and paper butterflies tapped nearby, the memory of the small child who had given it to Christine before he died in a Gunner attack, months ago. The little boy’s death had triggered the deadly hate driving her killing spree. With the last of Gunners gone, she found peace in hanging this reminder of a beautiful young life taken, and a promise fulfilled. 

Marcy Long, her belly just beginning to swell with the new life growing within her, handed Christine a knotted pair of baby shoes, 'KYLE' written in large black letters on the soles. He knew they weren’t really Kyle’s shoes, but ones Christine had found on one of her missions, and given to the Longs to hang on the Memory Trees. He watched Christine hold the little shoes to her chest, then return them to Marcy to hang herself. Speaking quietly, Marcy gave them back and pointed to the top of the tree. Christine climbed to the very top without a word, and hung the shoes on the highest branch she could reach. By the time she returned to the ground, Marcy was gone. 

He stepped back further into the shadows as a small group of settlers passed him and placed two benches under the trees. One woman climbed up onto a bench to tie on another strip of fabric, and a locket. One by one, the people left, each pausing at the Minuteman statue guarding the entrance to the Memory Trees to touch it, as if thanking the resolute figure for guarding their loved ones. The last to leave were Garvey, MacCready, and Deacon.

Christine’s voice reached out to him from the peaceful grove. “Come hang your memories, Cain. I won’t look.”

He smiled. Of course she knew he was there. She had an almost magical ability to feel people, their presence, their emotions. She was attuned to him now. He wished he could be the same, but the ability was not in him. The best he could do was watch her face and body, and listen to her voice. But she made it easy for him. She seemed incapable of hiding her own emotions. She had no secrets.

“Cain?”

“Go, Christine.”

“I don’t want you to be alone.”

She stood silently and blew on the little mobile, watching it clack in the breeze. His heavy footsteps drew closer. They stopped directly behind her. She could feel the heat of his body as he reached around her with both arms, to show her a small tin, like the ones that used to hold cough drops back in her time. He flipped it open.

Inside was a small, faded picture of a pale woman with dark hair, holding a tiny baby. A piece of the picture had been torn off, like there had been someone there Cain had not wanted to see.

“My wife. Our baby.” He said gruffly. “We took this picture when I still lived out West, right before they were killed. It’s all I have left.”

He pulled a small piece of ribbon from behind the picture, closed the tin on it, and then knotted it to the branch next to Christine’s mobile.

He sucked in his breath as Christine turned in his arms, her own arms poised around him, but not touching. Her eyes were squinched shut. 

“Can I touch you, Cain?”

They stood there for a long moment, his deep breathing mingling with her own soft breaths.

He looked down at her face, so close to his own. Short, thick lashed framed closed eyes that were on level with his lips. A light burn crowned her cheekbones. Sun- browned skin glowed in the afternoon sun, contrasting sharply with the white scars of her education in the Commonwealth. Her nose was straight and slightly pointed, with a smudge on the side he had to struggle not to try and rub off. Her lips were pink and…ordinary. In fact, just about everything about her except her height was ordinary. She was not a great beauty. She stood out in no way from any of the settlers around her every day. 

But the moment she looked at you with those eyes that saw everything, or a smile tweaked her lips, or even if she just spoke, or moved, she became the most beautiful woman in the world. Her very lifeforce was her beauty. She was brave and inspiring, silly, strong, and terrifying all at once. She laughed, and you wanted to laugh. She was angry, you wanted to go to war. She danced and everyone danced with her. Her determination inspired strength in her people. Her boldness made them feel invincible. She was more alive than anyone or anything he had ever known in his very long life. She was more like the warming of the sun, or the waves crashing on the shore, than a mere person.

He watched her cock her head toward him slightly and smile, encouraging him to respond.

Christine’s smile faded as the warmth of his nearness receded with his footsteps. 

“HEY GENERAL! WHAT ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS?”

Her eyes popped open as a crowd of settlers came into view, over the rise from Concord. Eight brahmin were yoked together, pulling a stripped down, derelict flatbed. On it rested part of another of her ‘crazy ideas’. Cain was nowhere in sight. Of course.

“WOOOOOOOT!!!!!” Christine raced through the grove and onto the road, then dashed back to pat the Minuteman statue, before resuming her mad gallop toward the odd conveyance. “WOOTIDDY WOOTIDDY WOOT WOOT BOOYAH!!!”

Fond smiles broke out among the tired settlers as she hugged each one of them, then jumped up onto the flatbed to rummage through the curves of metal, old wiring, and propellers of the vertibird that had been resting on the Museum of Freedom for two hundred years. 

“We bring it home, Bert! This old girl has been waiting for us long enough. Put it in the field behind the Doc’s house with the one you rescued from by the satellite station.” She patted the metal hulk affectionately. “Is this the last of it?”

He nodded.

Rob and Deacon saw them coming across the bridge into Sanctuary and ran to greet them. 

“Boss, I gotta tell you, there is never a dull moment around you.” Deacon smacked the dust from the Minuteman tricorn he had appropriated from somewhere, then set it back atop his head. “Are you going to do what I think you’re going to do with that?”

“You better believe it, Bubba!” She turned to Rob. “Where’s Sturges?”

“Hiding, I think.”

“Where?”

“He told me not to tell.”

Christine laughed exuberantly and ran towards the workshop. 

“STURGES! COME ON OUT! TIME TO BUILD US A WARBIRD!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad to be back. Missed you guys! Last little bit of fun before things start getting serious. Maybe. Please share your ideas and thoughts!


	27. You say I dream too big. I say you dream too small.  Anon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sturges says no. Chris, Deacon, and Rob visit the Switchboard. Chris doesn't like whiskey.

Chapter 27

“It won’t work, General. I don’t know how to make this happen.”

“Of course you do, Sturges. You’re magical. I bring you a radio and the parts you ask for, it starts playing music, and on two different channels so far. I bring you a washing machine and the parts you ask for, and I magically get a functioning washing machine to clean clothes more efficiently than using the irradiated waters of the river. I bring you vertibird junkers and the parts you ask for, and you patch together an aerial derrick so I can get more pieces. Speaking of which, I have some ideas for what I want the real Warbird to do-“

Sturges shook his head. “Ma ‘am, if I take your pipboy apart and can’t get it back together again, you lose one of the most important assets you have.”

“I know you can do it. I have faith in you. Have some in yourself.”

“Faith is only going to get me so far.”

“You are a man of singular talent.” Christine removed the pipboy from her arm and placed it confidently in his hands. “I can receive signals and stations anywhere in the Commonwealth. It only makes sense that I should be able to transmit as well. If you really want to get creative, give it the ability to record and playback as well. Take a look, and just tell me the parts to bring you.”

“This thing is going to weigh more than your arm can lift if you dream up too many more things for it to do.”

“Remember that little box I showed you? The one I said had been a phone?”

He wiped sweat from the back of his neck with a greasy rag. “Yeah. You still pulling my leg about that?”

“No! I’m not pulling your leg! Seriously, I wish I had my phone still. It was just like this, and the technology inside made me able to store music, addresses and phone numbers, a camera, play games…”

Sturges handed the pipboy back to her with finality. “Did it have targeting capabilities? Could it measure the radiation in your body, or tell you where and how bad your injuries were? Did it keep count of your rounds, or the things your guns or armor could do? No. General, unless you can show me proof of those things on your little box phone, I will not take a chance of ruining your pipboy.”

“But Sturges-“

“No. I’m sorry ma’am.” He turned regretfully and headed back to the workshop. “You have a nice afternoon now, y’hear?”

Christine stared after him in frustration. Damn it, there had to be a way.

“So Boss, whatcha scowling at?” Deacon sauntered up and handed her a cold glass of water. “Sturges causing trouble for you, O Queen? Do I need to go mess him up?”

“No, no nothing like that… What on earth are you wearing?”

Deacon spread his arms wide, showing off. “I’m channeling my inner Sturges. See? Pompadour wig, coveralls... hey see here? I even have a wrench. If that isn’t attention to detail, I don’t know what is.”

“Mmmm, yeah. Let’s hear that southern accent, Sonny Jim. And can you take off the glasses? Couple of pretty important details there, I think.”

“Naw, shucks ma’am. He needs ter wear some glasses of his own. Then, we’d a be lak brothers.”

“Egad Deacon, that’s about the most terrible accent ever.“

“Evah. In the south, we say ‘evah’, nevah ‘ever’.” He switched back to his normal voice. “You know, if you want, I can teach you all about disguises.” He dismissed her skeptical face, “You’re going to need some experience with them if you continue on with the Railroad. Hey, did I tell you Dez finally believes you’re real? For the longest time, I’d give her reports on you and she was convinced I was making you up. “No one could be that perfect for the Railroad,” she said.”

“What makes you think I’m perfect for the Railroad? And who’s Dez? Wait a minute! How long have you been spying on me?!”

“Waaaaall Missy, ‘bout the time you and young MaaacCready and the boys done took out Gunners Plazah, you was oreaddy in m’ sights. Promise, that’s what y’all had, loads o’ promise. Ah bin watchin ya’ll clean out buildins, an killin baddies for going nigh on months now. Then y’all visited my close, personal friend Dr. Amari and brings life to a dead synth with your lovely and talented Wednesday. Yer helpin her to be more an more human-like, and even encouragin love to bloom betwixt her and that young MaaacCready pup. Personalleh I’m thinkin she could score much highah than him, but she’s happy, an they-at’s what mattahs.”

“Okay, that accent is just terrible,” Sturges said, walking past them with a broken torque end rod. “Nice outfit though.”

Christine giggled.

Deacon shrugged. “Sure it needs work. But this is the kind of work I like. Not transporting and burying dead bodies, thank you for that, my Queen.”

She dropped into a dainty curtsey, fanning her face delicately with one hand. “I aims ter please, you sa-weet yong whippahsnappah.” 

Deacon stood with his hands on his hips, watching the sassy sway of her hips as she sashayed away. He shook his head with disgust. “And she calls my accent terrible.”

*

Deacon crept along behind Christine, a running monologue bubbling quietly from his lips as they cautiously made their way through the dank, smelly tunnels that were the hidden path into the now- defunct Switchboard. Deep under a Joe Spuckies coffee shop, Deacon had discovered the secret, pre-war military facility of the Defense Intelligence Agency. It had immediately become the headquarters of the shadowy organization known as the Railroad. 

Back before Christine’s time, the original Railroad had been a pipeline for slaves to escape from the southern states, to the free North. Now, the new Railroad organization had been formed as a way to help synths escape from the Institute, and integrate them into the current population of the Commonwealth. A number of months ago, the Institute had discovered this location, and destroyed it, along with most of the Railroad team. The survivors had created a new headquarters in the catacombs under the Old North Church, but had left much behind in the deadly exodus, including a special stealth boy prototype.

“…and I know where it is. I just need a little help getting it out of there. How about ‘Whisper’?”

Christine snorted and shook her head. She padded ahead, her only sounds a light squish, and gentle clanking as she stepped through the mud in her power armor.

“No? Humpf. I thought you’d like that one. Kind of ironic, since you insist on wearing your metal Godzilla costume everywhere. I gotta admit though, I’ve never seen anyone move so quietly in one. So anyway, synths are thick on the ground here. They’d like nothing more than to find and kill more of us Railroad types. Wiping out the Railroad has always been a prime directive of the Institute-“

“Prime Directive! You know what the Prime Directive is?” Christine spun around, almost clocking Deacon with her laser rifle.

“Of course,” Deacon scoffed. “To find new synths, and create new synth-friendly civilizations. To boldly go where no synth has gone before.”

The loud clang of Christine’s metal gauntlet meeting her helmet echoed through the corridor as she tried to clamp her hand over her mouth to stifle her delighted laughter.

“What?” Deacon was offended.

“Close enough,” she laughed, her eyes twinkling.

“Do not mock The Deacon. I work very hard to stay ahead of the world, most recently, the increasingly confusing jargon of one Christine Christopher, a time traveler who refuses to fit into her new life. This is repugnant to her dear friend, the aforementioned Deacon, whose entire life is based on his incredible ability to blend in. I am a spy, Christine. I am The Spy. And this reflects badly on me. How about ‘Professor’?”

“Hell no. No. I do not want a code name Deacon. So what have I been saying that’s so confusing?” She pointed at a chalk drawing on the wall. “Is that a rail sign?”

Deacon halted her. “Yes it is. Good girl. The star extensions mark it as one of ours, the box in the center indicates a stash of some sort close by.” He poked around, peering closely behind pipes and support beams. 

“Ha! Found it!” Deacon crowed. He frowned. “Wait a minute. It’s empty.”

Christine looked up from nimbly reloading the magazine of her rifle. That she could do fiddly little things like that in her big, clumsy metal gauntlets was a point of fascination to him. It defied physics, logic, and everything else he could think of. He’d bet a load of caps that she could pick a deathclaws nose and he wouldn’t even notice.

“That was it? Oh I’m sorry Deacon. Already found it and stashed the gear. Wasn’t very much. The Minutemen will do better for you. And us. Did you need something from it?”

The disgust in his voice spoke volumes. “Well I guess someone needs to go back to Hide and Seek school. Maybe we should call you ‘Finder’.”

She sighed. “Why do I have to have a code name? Can’t you just call me Christine? Or General?”

“What?! And have everyone know who you are? If it were discovered that you were a member of the Railroad, you could be killed on the spot. And then who would I have to show off my incredible powers of spy-ocity to?”

“Nothing new there. Someone always seems to be trying to kill me.”

Rob scooted up behind them, breathing hard, Dog right behind him. 

“Nothing following us,” he reported cheerfully. Dog barked in agreement.

“SHHHH! DOG!” Deacon covered his eyes in despair. “Christine, you cannot bring him everywhere you go! He’s as noisy as MacCready!”

“Hey! I am not noisy!” MacCready protested loudly.

He lowered his voice and looked smugly over Deacon’s shoulder. “And I can at least keep track of her. Master Agent Ninja Spy, where did Christine go this time? And in power armor too. If you’re going to teach her anything, you’re going to have to keep up with her. Much easier said than done. Believe me I know.”

Deacon’s eyes darted from shadow to shadow. Not finding her, he heaved another long-suffering sigh and resumed his careful trek through the bowels of Lexington. 

“At least when I was teaching her how to snipe, my lessons were interesting enough to keep her attention.” Rob grinned, taking up the rear. “She-“ He crashed into Deacon’s backside. “Oh for Pete’s sake Deacon, give a guy some warn-“

Laser fire erupted somewhere in front of them. Robotic voices echoed through the caverns, interspersed with Christine’s usual belligerent battle mocking, and Dog’s fierce growling.

“I recommend against hostile action.” BAMBAMBAM! The hollow, metallic voice of a Gen 1 synth echoed loudly.

BAMBAM! “Yeah, good luck with that, Twiki!” BAM!

“By order of the Institute, you must be des-“ 

BAMBAMBAM! “Nope! The Institute ordered pie and coffee! I heard them. And they said you were idiots.” BAM! BAM! 

“Destruction of fellow synth verified. You must be terminated.” 

“Oh you have got to be kidding me! Terminated? Really?” BAMBAMBAMBAMBAM! “Hey Deacon! I’m guessing if they’re shooting at me, they’re bad synths, right?” she yelled.

Deacon shook his head again. “Yes Christine, shooting at you-bad. Handing you a snack cake- good. Watch out for the tur-“

BADADADADADADA! 

“Jesus Deacon!” BABAAAAAM! 

“-rets. Hey, I’m not sorry! And just Deacon is fine. You don’t have to call me Jesus. Or Cupcake or Pete or Bubba or Sweet Pea!” He ran down the corridor toward her voice.

By the time he had reached the battleground, Christine was gone again.

MacCready nudged a dead body with his toe. “So were all of these guys Railroad agents?”

“Yeah. Maven, Sly, Francis, Kelly… all huge losses for us. Every person had a specific job they were good at too. Losing them left big gaps in our power structure. Luckily they still have me. Get up Christine. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Rob jumped as the corpse he had been poking at started laughing and stood up.

“WHAT THE HELL CHRISTINE!!!“ He socked her in the shoulder. Dog jumped on his friend, barking delightedly.

“What gave me away, Deacon?” she asked, pushing Dog away. “I was wearing that lady’s clothes, lying motionless in the muck…”

“The glasses. She doesn’t wear sunglasses.”

“Ahhhh.” Christine moved in until she was nose-to-nose with Deacon. “So wearing sunglasses gave me away. Good to know.” She cocked her head at him. “Take yours off. You’re confusing the class.”

From behind the deeply tinted glass, he took in the too- small jeans, and the soaked flannel shirt clinging to her curves. A drip of mud ran in a thin line from her wet hair, and down her collarbone, to disappear intriguingly between her breasts. Her delightfully inviting lips curled into a teasing smile as she waited expectantly. 

Deacon hadn’t had a romantic thought in years. His beloved wife Barbara was gone, the memories of her bringing only self-loathing, and a feeling of profound unworthiness that always abruptly interrupted any burgeoning urges for another woman. The pain always brought him full circle to the contemptible, shameful blindness he hid behind his sunglasses.

But Christine was different. Barbara would have liked her. They would very likely have been great friends. Christine had a simple, accepting view of everything- the horrors of the Commonwealth, the hidden hope in every person’s heart that they would survive, the belief that even the most hardened raider wanted a safe, peaceful corner to call his own, and someone to whom he mattered. She inspired with her steadfast strength as she encouraged, helped, cared for, and invited every single person she came across to have a hand in the building of the life they so desired, but had always felt was a hopeless, unattainable dream. Until they met her. 

He had watched from the shadows as under her kind acceptance, men like former-gunner Mike Beckett forgave the mistakes they had made, and began the new future they wanted. The man had built a small house, planted a garden dedicated to his dead brother, helped other settlers improve their weapons and fighting skills, and after many lengthy conversations with Christine, found the courage to ask a lovely young woman named Irene Fosman to have dinner with him.

Jun and Marcy Long were repairing the deep wounds the murder of their son had created in their lives. Jun planned and organized military training for the refugees in all of the current settlements, and was training a promising older gentleman from Abernathy Village to do the same. With Christine’s encouragement, Marcy had begun to create a new little school in Sanctuary. And from the sounds coming from their house, a new little Long would be joining their settlement in the very near future. Eccentric Mama Murphy had severely cut back her dependency on drugs, and was using her newfound lucidity to create the pharmaceutical compounds Wednesday’s medical and teaching facility would need when she returned from the Capital Wasteland.

Ex-raider Finn O’Leary and the four orphans he had adopted as his own, had moved from their enforced servitude with Bobbi No-Nose in Goodneighbor, into an old railroad car at Oberland Station. They were thrilled to have their very own home, and a safe community in which to create a life for themselves. Chris checked in on them often. Much to Deacon’s personal annoyance, he had been completely mystified when she spent one morning at Oberland stripping some branches, then shortening them to about a foot long and carving a hook on the end. She had then patiently taught young Rosie, Pip, Cheddy, and Louise how to cut old clothing into thin strips, and ‘cro-shay’ them together with the hooked sticks, until they had each produced a rough blanket long enough to cover their own beds. Thrilled with their new skill, the four had busily created one for Christine’s bed, and Finn’s as well. Now they brought in caps to support their little family as they sold their hand-crafted blankets to others. The General sent frequent shipments of inexpensive old clothing to the industrious group, and provisioners and traders sold the completed blankets all over the Commonwealth. Under Jun’s guidance, Finn himself settled in comfortably to organize and train guards to watch over the settlement. His considerable skills also earned him the rank of Sergeant in the Minutemen, where he shared his experience with every settler of Oberland, without exception. General Christine Christopher was adamant that everyone, regardless of age, learn how to defend themselves, and their community. 

Not every endeavor of Christine’s had met with resounding success. Raiders and supermutants had killed lone provisioners, prompting guards to be assigned for the protection of their replacements. When the devastating attacks had continued, routes were combined to generate larger, less-vulnerable groups. Longer routes then meant longer absences of these people, creating hardships on their families. Additional settlers agreeing to learn the ropes allowed time spent apart to often be cut in half, but losing additional settlers to the provisionary routes removed them from jobs necessary to fill the needs of the growing communities. To counter this setback, Christine promoted training in a secondary field. Provisioners usually gone for two weeks at a time, could now be gone only one, but ran the trading post in their settlement for example, while the cross-trained shopkeeper headed out for his week as a provisioner. The solution to one problem often led to the creation of another, but Christine, Colonel Garvey, and anyone who wanted to share their thoughts and ideas kept at the problem with staggering determination, until an acceptable solution was reached. 

And Barbara would have been right there beside Christine. Deacon smiled. Barbara had been a synth. She was dead now, killed by a synth-hating group he had once been a part of, and for that he would never forgive himself. But in his mind he watched her happily work, fulfilled in the life she should have had, and felt peace as her happy smile faded with her memory.

Slowly he reached up to remove his sunglasses, marking the wider smile Christine rewarded him with. Her clever mouth quickly popped into an O of surprise, as his hands switched direction and took her glasses off.

“Hey, you just gotta know how to wear them. Panache, my Queen. It’s all about panache. Disguise is more than wearing a wig and some lice-ridden clothes. With total commitment to the persona you create, a good agent can pull off any disguise.”

“Even in sunglasses?”

“Even in sunglasses.”

*

Deacon surveyed MacCready and Christine rolling on the floor and howling with laughter, with disgust. 

Christine had tried three more times to fool Deacon with a disguise, to include partially encasing herself in a broken turret housing and burying the rest of her body in muck. He had easily discovered her each time. Very, very easily since Little Miss Smarty Pants had chosen to wear sunglasses with every attempt, including balancing them on a broken metal plate on the front of the turret. 

Christine had listened with rapt attention to his following lecture on the differences between disguise and hiding. Then, to Deacon’s alarm, that slow, evil smile had spread across her face, right before she quietly clanked off into the shadows again. The ‘Deathclaw Smile’, as MacCready called it. Deacon had observed on multiple occasions that Christine’s unsettling smile was, without exception, followed by some unexpected shitstorm. It had never been leveled at him personally before. Being on the receiving end made him more nervous than he had ever been in his life. 

Nervous enough so, that when a spate of Gen 1 and 2 threats poured out, he had not rushed to join her enthusiastic attack. Honestly, unless there were more than four, he was unneeded anyway, he told himself. As the following silence had stretched out without Christine speaking, his wariness went another direction entirely.

No synth babble. Did she kill them all? Was she going to jump out at him?

No Christine talk. Did they kill her? Were they going to jump out at him?

MacCready chuckled.

“What are you laughing at?!” Deacon hissed.

“Just watching the hairs on your neck rise. Glad she wasn’t smiling at me.”

“Shut up.”

Deacon spun as a synth fell out from behind a broken pipe. He shot it point blank, then twice more to be safe. Leaning closer, he saw it was wearing sunglasses.

“Oh no! Christine! Please be-”

BRRRZAAAP!!

The electric jolt blasted him forward, onto the well-perforated synth armature. He frantically tried to convince his unresponsive limbs to obey him, but they were having none of it. Christine stepped into his view from behind, waving an Institute shock baton weapon. She could barely speak between fits of laughter.

“So where does ‘misdirect’ fit into the lecture? See? This is why the codename ‘Professor’ is still up for grabs!”

“Qu…qu…qu…quiet!” Deacon stuttered, fighting the numbness slowly fading from his body. “Y…y…y…you’ll att…attract th...the attention…n of the synth…th…ths up there, nnn I c…can’t help y…you fight!”

“Good try, Deacon,” MacCready laughed, taking the shock baton from Christine. “But this is too much fun. We’ll protect you.” 

He zapped Deacon again.

“AAAAAAGH!”

“Rob, if you can’t play nice, give it back.” Christine said, fighting not to laugh.

“Yes Ma’am.” He zapped her outstretched palm.

“AAAAAAK!” Christine fell twitching and jolting into the mud next to Deacon.

“You had to give it to him,” Deacon mumbled, trying to sit up.

Rob zapped him again.

“I think the two little bumps here on the end do all the work,” he mused. He zapped Christine and watched her spasming repeat. 

“RRRR…ROB, YYY…YOU’RE A DDDD…DEAD MM… MAN!!!”

“Oh sorry Chris. Here-” He bent lower to show her the nodes. “See, if I touch only one or the other-“, he demonstrated, “nothing happens. Now if I touch both-“

Deacon and Christine exploded into laughter as without thinking, MacCready jolted himself. His spasming body crashed into the mud beside them. 

Deacon weakly sat up, and wiped mud from his glasses without removing them. 

“Really Deacon? At least take them off to clean them!” Christine threw another wad of mud at him.

Deacon watched it splatter onto her power armor, which she had parked in the shadows behind him before her latest disguise attempt. Or misdirect attempt, he grinned. 

He grasped the metal plating, trying to pull himself to a standing position. 

Christine snatched the shock baton from Rob’s unresisting fingers, and jammed it firmly against the power armor. 

The electrical charge raced through the metal framework, and blasted Deacon into the crumbling brick behind him with the force of a rocket launcher. He lay in the mud at the base of the wall staring at her, dazed.

Christine stared at the shock baton in her hands, wide-eyed. 

“Oh this has serious potential,” she whispered.

But Rob was staring at Deacon.

“You know, the shock stick is great and all, and I know you’ll find a way to integrate it into your power armor,” he began, “but what I really want to know, is WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU USING TO KEEP YOUR DAMN GLASSES ON, DEACON?!”

Deacon smiled weakly and gave him the finger.

Dog’s ferocious barking snapped all three of them back to their current mission. Christine tossed the shock baton to Rob, jumped into her power armor, snatched up her laser rifle, and pounded down the corridor toward the sound, the two men right behind her.

It opened into a huge, open room, with a few scattered desks and filing cabinets. The crest of the Defense Intelligence Agency was embedded into the floor. An upper office lined with windows from which one could view every corner, dominated the room. Two synths were lying in pieces at the foot of a set of stairs. Dog was wrestling with what was left of a third on the top step. He shook his head fiercely, snapping off a robotic arm, then ran back to Christine with his prize.

Two synths began firing at them from the upper office. Three more closed in from a room on the right. All five wore advanced Institute armor.

“Get behind me!” Christine shouted, trying to shelter them with her power armor. “Rob! Go with the grenades!”

Rob popped the pin on a frag grenade and tossed it in through the upper office window. A second grenade followed into the room on the right. Robotic parts rained down on them from above as the first grenade exploded. 

Christine kept crowding Rob and Deacon behind her, backing them into a room on the left. 

“What happened to the other grenade?!” Deacon fired at the oncoming synths from around Christine’s metal torso. “It didn’t detonate!” An arm exploded off his target, but it kept coming. 

“Dud! Well shit. We only had two. Sorry guys.” She turned toward them.

“Sorry for wh-“, Deacon began.

“NONONONONO!” Rob tried to grab Christine’s arm, but she shoved both men around the corner.

Spinning on her metal heel, Christine ran full-tilt at the approaching synths. She plowed into the first, knocking it to the ground. Its chest and head exploded under her armored feet as she advanced on the second, her hands outstretched toward its neck and gun. The robot only got off a single shot before being stripped of its weapon and brutally ripped apart.

The third synth slammed into her from behind, knocking Christine to the floor. She cursed and flailed, trying to roll over in her heavy, awkward armor. 

The synth fired on her from behind, directly at her power core. 

Christine screamed as the power core exploded. Confined and immobilized by her armor, Christine struggled to free herself from the burning nuclear debris chewing across her back. Rocking and kicking, she screamed again. Trapped, on fire, and in excruciating pain, Christine fought for her life.

Rob stepped into full view of the armored synth, firing on it until it turned and focused its attack on him. He cursed inventively as his bullets bounced off the synths thick plating, doing very little damage. Deacon dragged him back behind the wall. 

“IT’S NOT WORKING!” Rob yelled. “I CAN’T STOP IT! IT’S GOING TO KILL CHRIS--!”

Deacon yanked him out of the way as the synth hurtled past them through the air. It smashed into the far wall, broken pieces scattering everywhere. In a panic, Deacon fired at the battered armature until his magazine was empty.

Rob ran to Christine. She had managed to roll onto her back, where she lay, her leg still cocked from the powerful kick that had propelled her attacker into the wall.

“CHRISCHRISCHRIS!” He tried to heave the power armor back over. “DEACON! HELP ME!”

Deacon pulled from one side and Rob pushed from the other, grunting and sweating, until with a crash, the armor rolled onto its front. They hit the release valve. The melted metal screeched in protest as the back opened. Rob cursed its slowness. Bumping and jerking, Christine’s body slowly came into view.

She was whimpering. Her back was a bleeding, scorched mess of blackened skin and burnt fabric swirling out in loose, concentric circles from just below her neck, across her back, and down the outside of her ribs. In places, Christine’s shirt had fused directly into her wounds.

Dog crept over, and gently licked her cheek. He looked at the two men with trusting expectation, then whined and laid down next to Christine’s head. It took him a number of tries, but he eventually found a way to poke his nose through the charred armor and rest it on her hair. He whined again. His soft brown eyes watched Rob and Deacon closely as if to say “There. I’m doing my job. Now you do yours and make my friend better.”

“Oh Chris,” Deacon whispered.

Rob didn’t even know where to start. “I wish Wednesday were here. She’d know what to do.”

“Stimpak,” Christine mumbled feebly.

“I can’t Chris. The fabric and burns will heal right into your skin. I don’t know how to get them out once they’re sealed in. And then they’ll probably get infected.”

“Stim. Pak.” 

“Oh Chris, no. I know it hurts now but-“

“StimgoddamnpakRob!” she choked out. “Please. We have to get the prototype… before more…synths come.”

Deacon stared at her, stunned. She wanted to finish the mission? What the hell was she thinking?! They needed to get her to a doctor!

He watched her painfully try to extricate herself from the power armor. Tears ran down her cheeks. Her teeth were clenched so hard, he was certain they’d crack. But she kept moving.

She sat on the armor and slowly extended her palm toward him. “Stimpak.”

Wordlessly, he handed it over.

Defying the searing pain, she struggled to reach her shoulder with the injector. The stretch tore a burn on her back open and Christine cried out, but stubbornly kept at it. She slammed the stimpak into her bicep, which was as far as she could make herself extend. Cool relief washed weakly through her back. She held out her hand for another.

“Pain happens.” She gritted out. “It always happens. You decide whether it’ll stop you or not. See Rob? I listened.”

Rob stood frozen, riveted by her determination, his teeth clamped tightly together in sympathetic assistance. He dashed the wetness from his cheek with a dirty sleeve and cleared his throat. 

“Here,” he said gruffly, stabbing a stimpak between her shoulder blades, and another into her hip muscle. “That’s the last I have. Try to stop getting hurt, okay?” He glared at her for a brief moment, then stomped up the stairs to the upper office, muttering. 

*

“Guys! Behave a minute so I can concentrate on breaking the code on this terminal. The damn thing has to get us in that door.” She winced as her raw back touched the chair. “Are you sure you tried all of your old passwords, Deacon? Try to remember. Any more squeezing out from behind those sunglasses?”

“No boss. Nada. I got nothing. You gotta move on from the sunglasses thing. Nothing there but a loaded baked potato of frustration for you.”

“Nope. They’ll come off sooner or later. Do you even know what a loaded baked potato is? Seriously! Rob! Stop throwing those metal synth parts for Dog to catch. He’s going to break a tooth.”

“Okay.”

In the upper office, they had found a locked door that Deacon was certain led to the bowels of the Switchboard. It was in there that the Railroad had centered their synth-rescuing operations, and hopefully stored the prototype they were after. Unfortunately, it was locked down tight. 

There were also two terminals in the room. One of them, Deacon had accessed by breaking a very low level encryption. The entries it contained were fascinating if you wanted to learn about the makings of the war, or the origins of the Predictive Analytic Machine, or PAM for short, but useless in opening the door. 

The second one was proving more of a challenge. Christine had exited her power armor to manipulate the smaller, more sensitive keys. Her temper began to deteriorate as her bored companions amused themselves and kept distracting her.

Deacon raised a hand to his glasses protectively. “If you’re so sure, we could put some money on it.”

“Dog! Stop trying to catch those things! Rob, I said stop throwing them! You do it again and I swear to god I’ll-“

“Okay.”

She bent back over the keyboard and glared at the glass.

“A hundred caps says you never get my glasses off me.”

Christine smacked his hand away from her power armor. “Stop touching it, Deacon! The power core we took from the generator is barely connected. If we lose that, you’re carrying my armor home. Dog put that down! Rob!” 

“Okay!”

She returned to picking at the terminal keys. “Deacon, you keep them on, I give you a hundred caps. I get them off, I get that copy of War and Peace you won’t shut up about. Deal? Rob stop messing with the lock. It does no good for me to unlock the door with the password if you jam the lock fooling around with it.”

“Okay.”

“NO!” Deacon grabbed his pack and hugged it to his chest. “No deal! Hey, should Dog be chewing on that metal eyeball thingy? It’s kinda small. He might choke on it.”

“Dog no! Spit that out! Deacon, get it away from him!”

“Ewwwww no! It’s all slimy and gross-“

“Deacon! Man up and get that thing out of his mouth, or I’m going to tell Des I ran the whole op myself, and had to drag you out by your very small, red-spangled jock strap. Rob! Stop playing with that damn lock-“

“Okay.”

“- Deacon, for Pete’s sake, you don’t need to wear my power armor to get an eyeball from Dog’s mouth! Get away from it! Dog! Drop it! Rob, I am going to come over there and smack you! Hurry up Deacon! MY GOD I FEEL LIKE I’M AT A CUB SCOUT MEETING!!!”

She banged her head down onto the terminal keys, and closed her eyes.

Think happy thoughts, she reminded herself. Butterflies, bubbles, smacking Rob and Deacon, getting the prototype and getting the hell out of here…

Her head popped up abruptly as the terminal clattered to life. ‘PASSWORD ACCEPTED’ flashed across the screen. The door clicked open.

“Pretty slick, boss. Usually I do kind of a Rain Dance thing, with a little voodoo doll of the terminal. And feathers. Got to have feathers...”

“Shut up.” Christine hopped back into her power armor and headed into the secret sanctum of the Railroad. And hopefully the damn stealth boy prototype. 

“Move it, Cubbies. Let’s go finish this job.”

*

“Drink more, Christine.”

“Mmmm goooing ta barfff,” she slurred.

Cain tugged gently at a tiny shred of fabric sprouting from the pink and black mess of burnt skin, badly-healing skin, pus, and patches of fabric that covered her back. She squawked and tried to rise.

“No,” he said gruffly, pressing the back of her head and her hip back toward the table. “Stay on your stomach. Now drink.” He held out the bottle again. “And keep your eyes closed.”

Obediently Christine squinched her eyes shut, leaned up on one elbow, and took a deep drink.

“More.” 

She drank again and swung the bottle unsteadily to where she could see the liquid level. She cracked open one eye to peek at it. “Cccccome on, CCCCain. I I I almosfin…ished the whole bottle!”

“Again.”

She burped, and giggled. “Mmmaking r… r… room.” She took another long swig and flopped back onto her stomach.

“More Christine.”

“Bleck. Donnnn’t think I like w… whiskey.”

“More. And don’t look at my boots. You promised you wouldn’t look at me without my permission. That goes for my legs and boots too.”

“But they’re v… vvvvery nice boots. And you’re aaaa vvv…very nice gg…guy.” She hiccupped. “Fff…ff…friend. I mean fffriend. Yy…you’rrrre my bbbestfffriend. I like you.”

“Hmmmm. Okay, pal.” He grunted and pulled on another slip of fabric. No response.

“So did you get what you went in there for?” he asked, trying to distract her from what he was doing. He pressed his thumb into a blackened patch pocketed in pus. 

She slowly twitched her shoulder away. “Sssstop… touching me …CCCain. Hurts.”

“More.”

She drank. “Uck. We gggot it. Pprototototype ssstealth bboy. Shhhhh. Thththese are nnot the droids you’rrre lllooking fffor. Rrreminddd me ttto… ttto………….. What was I ttttalking about? Rrright- need to ppput a supply umm ssstash in the old ssswitchbbboard. Good hideout.”

He scowled. “Drink more.”

“No. S’ icky. Icky Wicky. Isssky Whisssskkkey. ” She giggled again. 

“I’ll pour it down your throat if I have to. Cleaning your back is going to hurt. A whole lot. The whiskey will help numb the pain.”

Christine swung her arm out to the side and connected with his leg. “Ha! I’ll ssssee yyy…your fface. Fffinall…lly.”

Cain growled with frustration. Even drunk and half out of it, she was a handful.

“Drink, Christine.” 

No answer.

“Christine? You still with me?”

No answer.

He walked around the table to see her face. Christine was out cold. Not snoring, he grinned, but definitely drooling. 

Cain surveyed the body stretched out face-down on the table in front of him. Her beautiful back was so violated, it made him furious just to see it. At the idiots who couldn’t keep her safe, at himself for not being there to save her, and at her for leaping yet again into some dangerous situation without considering the damage she could do to herself. Mission, mission, mission! She was so single-minded sometimes! Never mind that her logic of ‘Well I was already hurt. Couldn’t do anything about it or take it back, so I might as well finish the job’ was irritatingly sensible. Damn her. 

His scowl softened. He had spent sixty years watching her sleep face up in her cryopod. Now he was watching her sleep face down on a cafeteria table. 

For a moment, he allowed himself to think of a day when he could see those glorious eyes looking back into his, not afraid of the man he was, but accepting, happy. Of her body alive and moving beside him. Of the two of them being normal people, behaving together like normal people. 

No. That would never happen. The minute she saw him, their friendship would be over. She would be gone from him.

And of all the people she could have gotten to help her with her back, she had asked him! Insisted! Trusted…

And he couldn’t tell her no. Great vicious killer he might be, but when it came to her, he was an utter pushover. He couldn’t deny her anything.

Looking at her back, he didn’t think many people would have been up for the task of cleaning it anyway. He was going to have to cut and carve a great deal of the tissue away to make sure nothing remained to cause infection, or get in the way of healthy healing skin. 

Christine’s pipboy caught his eye. He turned up the volume, hoping the quaint music of Minuteman Radio would keep her lulled in sleep. 

He tested the blade of his thinnest knife again, gently pulled a shred of fabric upward, and carefully began slicing the ruined skin away. A faint, unhappy noise escaped her lips.

Oh honey, this is going to hurt a lot.

The gentle music cut off abruptly. “This is an urgent message for the General. The Castle is under attack. I repeat, the Castle is under attack. All available Minutemen please render assistance immediately.” 

The message repeated two more times. Then there was nothing but static.

Cain eyes swung from the pipboy, to the bleeding woman in a drunken coma lying in front of him. The General would not be answering this call for help, that was sure. And there was no way in hell he could go down into Sanctuary to explain.

Now what was he supposed to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back and ready to delve back into the adventures of Christine and the Commonwealth. Thanks for being so patient. I missed you!
> 
> Enjoy! And leave comments!


	28. Every Blade of Grass Has it's Angel that Bends Over it and Whispers, "Grow, Grow."  -The Talmud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the attack on the Castle. A new Plan. Meeting the Railroad.

Chapter 28

A pearlescent trail ghosted through the evening mist, rising along the Castle wall, and alighting at Deacon’s feet. He wondered at its mother, and if she would shine as brightly if her children fought amongst themselves. If they destroyed each other’s burgeoning light by killing one’s own brother, like people did here on earth. The moon returned his thoughtful gaze, silently observing the man who hid his own light behind sunglasses, ashamed of the innocent spark he himself had stolen by extinguishing another’s.

Unable to stand as a man in her patient, disappointed gaze, he turned his back, and sat on the other side of the wall, a slouching child trying to make himself as small as possible, hoping her eyes would glide over him to a larger target. He idly bounced his heels against the rough stone, watching how the moon shone more gently on Christine than himself, as she sat by the fire below him in the courtyard. 

She too, was drawn up into a ball, but instead of hiding, she was protecting, holding carefully within her, the memory of the 14 people who had died trying to defend the luminous, resolute hope that was the Minutemen. 

She shouldn’t, he thought. She should stand tall, and let their unyielding dedication to forge peace, even at the cost of their own lives, beam from her like her own fire; an unquenchable inferno that reminded every soul in the Commonwealth of the worth of protecting their dream. Of being willing to fight and die, so the people that hid in the shadows, could see that the spark they carefully nurtured in their own hearts had a future, and that they were not alone in the darkness.

As if his thoughts had touched her, she stood, her back straight and proud, her chin up. The eyes of Preston, MacCready, Ronnie, and 23 survivors of the attack, lifted with her from their own painful thoughts. The clouds drifted aside, and Mother Moon captured Christine with a clear glow, encouraging her, supporting her, acknowledging a fellow spirit.

For a moment, Christine faltered. “I don’t understand…I’ll never understand why… How…” 

She cleared the tears from her throat and tried again. “Fourteen Minutemen gave their lives in yesterday’s battle, true to their promise to the Commonwealth to protect the people and the peace. We will find justice for them. They would have gone on to kill many more enemies, save the lives of many more people, and make the Commonwealth a better place. If they were still here.”

“They are still here,” Preston rose beside her. “The spirit of a true Minuteman never dies.”

“They are still here.” Saddened faces mumbled the ritual words, and returned to staring at the fire.

The deep hurt suffocating the sad group thickened, so heavy and deep, Christine wished she could scoop it away with her hands, and toss it into the ocean. There it could flow and drift, dissipating into the skeleton ships and worthless detritus of the past as they shifted on the tides, and far away from the broken people whose spirits were dying in front of her.

“It’s called Survivors Guilt.” Deacon emerged from the shadows beside Christine. “You believe someone who died was more worthy to live than you. That you should have died instead, because they had more to offer. That you didn’t save them and it’s your fault they’re dead. You’re not. It’s not true.”

“It was the Institute. They killed the people we lost. They saw the Minutemen gathering strength and felt us as a threat.” MacCready threw the stick he had been absently rolling in his hand directly into the fire as hard as he could. The fire sparked and flared as the fresh wood caught fire.

“And we are! We’re going to return this fight on them, and then some!” Despite the many years weighing on her, Sergeant Ronnie Shaw jumped to her feet, spry as the spring chicken Christine knew must be her spirit animal. “We’re armed, we’re angry, and we have artillery. We have the strongest hearts in the Commonwealth! They have every right to be afraid!”

The fire leaped as more wood fed the rising flames, growing higher and higher, refusing to die as long as one stick still remained ready to leap into the coals and rekindle its heart. Its defiant light shone brightly on the survivors, demanding the shadows to retreat, overwhelming even the radiant reach of Mother Moon herself.

“Christine found strength in the courage of a Mr. Handy and a dog. She killed raiders and a deathclaw to save the survivors of the Quincy Massacre. The survivors took back the Castle, and we gave every one of you the courage to join the Minutemen, and give other settlers and survivors the strength to stand up to the Commonwealth. Our friends who died here were attacked by cowards, robots that the people of the Institute hide behind!” Darren stood and punched the air with vengeance. “They’re going to wish they hadn’t! Sergeant Shaw is right. Their metal can’t hold a candle to the heart of a Minuteman!”

The tiny crowd cheered defiantly.

Beaming, Christine poked Preston in the shoulder. “You’re pretty quiet, pal. Got anything to add?”

His soft brown eyes studied hers thoughtfully, then surveyed the jubilant Minutemen waving their arms and throwing threats at their enemies. 

“It would appear the spirits of the Minutemen are indeed right here with us. But Christine tell me, why didn’t the Institute just take over the Castle? Why attack, kill almost everyone, destroy everything of value, and then just leave?”

Christine sobered immediately. He was right. They knew too damn little about their enemy. But there was someone who knew a lot more, and he was right there beside her.

The frustration was clear in her voice. “Deacon, who is this Institute? And where in all- flaming hell do I find them?”

Her eyes darted up at the aerial derrick that had flown them in from Sanctuary, fully intent on hunting this Institute down, right now. By air she should be able to see just about everywhere in the damn Commonwealth. It wasn’t the Warbird she dreamed about, but it would get her high up, and with every gun she had. A Fat Man should wipe out this bloody Institute. The hand-held mini-nuke launcher packed a hell of a lot of power into the single shell it threw. Maybe she’d throw two just to make herself feel better.

Rob grabbed her arm before she could stomp off.

“Chris, no one knows where the Institute is. That’s the problem.”

“That’s impossible. Someone has to know. We’ve found a Vault hidden in the basement of a school. The Switchboard was in a massive underground complex under a Joe Spuckies. The Railroad is in the ca-“

Deacon clamped a hand over her mouth. “Shush on that Boss! Only a select few people know our location, and we keep it that way so this” he gestured at the ruined Castle, and respectfully shrouded bodies awaiting transport, “doesn’t happen to us. Again. You know that. Don’t let your anger rule your head. Think about the rest of the Commonwealth, and the all of us poor peasants trying to scrub a living out of gathering lovely filth.”

Christine glanced at him sharply, not sure if knew what he just said.

He grinned. 

Of course he did. And he got what he wanted out of it, because her fury at the Institute had been immediately tempered by triggering the memory of a funny old movie. That devil! She wondered in the back of her head if he actually had it stashed somewhere. 

His grin grew broader as he read her mind. “Yes I do. And I’ll share it with you if you come with me to meet The Railroad. They have the answers you need. Promise.”

“Your promise, sneaky man? Or are you giving me Dog’s promise? Or maybe that guy we saw under that bridge?” 

Dog opened one eye from where he was lying with his belly toward the warm fire, and woofed. 

“Boss, you wound me! My promise is worth a load of caps! Maybe just a pile of caps. Or a cap. Or Dog had a cap. What were we talking about?”

Hearing his name, Dog woofed again.

Christine scowled. “What was that secret handshake again?”

“Hey! I was just trying to be helpful here. I said Dog-“

Woof.

“_would give you a cap if you walked the Freedom Trail. It’ll lead you to everything you want to know about the Institute.”

Rob’s eyes traveled back and forth between Deacon and Christine like he was watching a grenade being tossed between them. He cleared his throat. “Umm guys? Remember the proble-“

“Ma’am? They had a Courser, too.”

Christine’s brow furrowed as she turned toward the young man quietly edging into the group. 

“Corporal Finette, right? Is your mom and fiancée okay? Were they hurt? What’s a Courser? What can you tell me about what happened here?”

He blinked at the barrage of questions. “Yes Ma’am, they’re fine. Just minor injuries. Right now they’re in the infirmary helping Doctor Walters.”

Christine surveyed the young ‘Voice of the Minutemen’. His uniform hung off him like rags. His Minuteman coat and tricorn were gone. In places he was barely decent. In others, well… Blood caked a swelling purple wound on the side of his head. He hands were still bleeding, and his leg looked like it had been burned. Despite his condition, he stood at attention, his laser musket gripped closely to his chest.

“Relax, Craig. Tell me what you saw.”

“She means ‘At Ease’ soldier!” a querulous old voice bellowed. “Damn General doesn’t even know how to give a proper order,” Ronnie Shaw muttered under her breath as she stumped over to the group.

Christine raised an eyebrow. NOW what had crawled into that woman’s craw? “Sergeant Shaw, your opinions are neither useful to the mission, nor have they been requested by your commanding officer. Your candor is exemplary. Your disrespect is not. We will speak of this further, when I receive your full report of the attack on the Castle. You are dismissed.”

Ronnie’s eyed bulged. Her mouth opened and closed like a dying molerat as she struggled to control her temper. Who the hell was this jumped up little girl to be telling her she’s dismissed? General indeed. I’ll dismiss myself when I’m damn good and ready to go! 

She glared daggers at Christine and crossed her arms over her chest. Ronnie Shaw did not budge.

Rob and Deacon held their breath, waiting for ‘that smile’.

But it never came. Christine returned the old woman’s fierce glare calmly. “I recommend you follow your orders, Sergeant. Your insubordination has earned you a week on the detail rebuilding the south bastion. I can make it two just as easily.” 

Shocked, Ronnie took a step back.

But the General wasn’t finished. “Do you understand your orders, soldier? You are dismissed. That means you are required to leave my presence. Or are my orders not being given properly enough?”

Ronnie swayed between wanting to slug her General in the mouth, and being impressed at the surprising, military-style dressing down she had just been given. 

She snapped to attention and saluted. “Yes Ma’am.” Turning on her heel, she strode stiffly toward the south bastion.

The two men relaxed. 

Corporal Finette looked at the General with respect, and a little fear. “Ma’am?” be began tentatively.

“Hang on a sec, Craig.” She yelled after Sergeant Shaw’s receding figure. “RONNIE! GET BACK HERE AND GIVE ME GOOD ADVICE! TRYING TO SORT A PROBLEM, REMEMBER?”

Shaw shook her head and waved rudely back over her shoulder without turning around.

“THREE WEEKS!”

Ronnie paused.

“THOUGHT SO, YOU GRUMPY OLD COOT! MEET US IN THE CONFERENCE ROOM!” 

In much better spirits, Christine chuckled and headed into the Castle. She turned to the men behind her. “Rob, round up the survivors and bring them to the conference room. We need everyone accounted for, Minutemen, new settlers, any provisioners or traders overnighting here, everyone. Preston was here inspecting the fortifications. We need to know if there were any other visitors. Leave three Minutemen on guard, and one in the yard on relay. We’ll rotate them in. Deacon, tell Preston I need him. Every settlement goes on high alert, and ask for volunteers to help clean up here. We’ll get the derrick to pick them up.” She paused. “And bring the bodies to the Memory Trees for burial. Then go do what you do best.”

She gestured to Corporal Finette. “Let’s go, Craig. I need to know everything you know. Then I want you to get that radio up and running again. 

Sergeant Shaw, the General, and Corporal Finette disappeared into the Castle.

Christine’s muffled voice echoed back to them through the stone corridor. “And someone please find me a close-combat teacher so I don’t end up on my face with my back on fire again, and can’t come when someone needs me! Ask the provisioners if they’ve heard anything!”

“Hey! Come on! I’m a great teacher! You don’t always win!”

Rob’s offended tone made Deacon laugh. “Apparently she wants someone better.”

“I need someone better, Rob! Get moving, guys!”

Rob blew out a breath explosively. “Dang she scares me sometimes. And how does she know all this military stuff?”

“I don’t know.” Deacon drummed his fingers on his thigh. Preston? Couldn’t be. She never spent more than a few hours at a time with him at their unofficial headquarters in Sanctuary. She disappeared into her Vault every night. Maybe there was a stash of books in there? Maybe.

“I don’t know,” he said again, “but I am sure as hell going to find out.”

*

A headline ran through Christine’s mind as she carefully set her laser rifle and pistol on the cracked, uneven floor of the catacombs under the North Church. “Legendary Railroad Spy Killed By His Own Secret Handshake after Tricking the General of the Minutemen.” She took a step back from the weapons, and held her arms away from her sides, palms forward.

In front of her, three people stood on a raised section of the floor, shrouded in shadow. The one on the right held his arms stiffly, clenching and unclenching his fists. A man, and nervous. On edge.

The center figure was a woman, Christine guessed from her figure and the way she stood. She also smoked. A lot, by the smell.

On the left, metal glinted off the barrel of a minigun. The person wielding it was almost completely obscured by the darkness. Christine couldn’t tell the gender or size, but none of that mattered at the moment, because the small-ish hands she could clearly see, held the huge weapon comfortably, and with confidence. 

“You went through a lot of trouble just to find us. Who are you? Who sent you here?”

Christine looked at the center woman who had spoken, surprised. “You know exactly who I am. Deacon has been shadowing me for months, reporting to you. He made me follow your Freedom Trail alone, and didn’t help me with your entry code, but I know he’s around here somewhere. You’re Desdemona, right? Leader of the Railroad?”

The minigun on the right began to spin up. Christine held her ground, still holding eye contact with the center woman.

The woman gestured. “Hold on, Glory. We don’t need it. Yet.” The minigun spun down. Christine could still hear the low hum as it remained ready for action. “I’ll need to know more, to be certain you are who you say you are.”

Chris considered that for a moment, then nodded. “I understand. My name is Christine Christopher. I’m General of the Minutemen. I’ve been hearing about synths, and different kinds of synths from Deacon. And now the Institute, who I am told is the builder of the synths, has almost leveled our official Minuteman headquarters at the Castle. No mean feat, considering the battle structure, and number of soldiers and civilians occupying it. I’m here to learn everything you can teach me about synths and the Institute. Then I’m going to find it, and burn it to the ground. If you have a problem with that, spin up that minigun again and see where that leads you. One way or another, I am taking down this Institute.”

“Hey! Are we having a party? What gives with my invitation?” Deacon materialized from the shadows beside ‘Glory’. He grinned unrepentantly at Christine, ignoring her flat look. 

Desdemona broke off her intense inspection of Christine. “Deacon! Where were you? What can you tell me about this person.”

“Are you kidding? Des, this is the lady I’ve been telling you about. Rebuilt the Minutemen, made 6 settlements out of nothing, handles herself like a pro, cleared out most of the Gunners in the Commonwealth. Just got old Ronnie Shaw through the bowels of the castle- and let me tell you, that is some choice real estate- unearthed the old armory, and recovered schematics to equip every settlement, current and future, with artillery. Won’t that be fun! And Des, she’s the one who took a Miss Nanny to Dr. Amari, and had its consciousness transferred into the empty brain of that synth Candy was caring for.”

Desdemona’s eyebrows shot up. “This is her? She’s not what I expected.”

“Well what did you expect, Des? Don’t let the sweet face fool you. In a battle of the heavies, I’d put my money on her. Sorry Glory.”

The minigun spun up again.

“Please, Glory.” Christine held up a hand to stop her. “If I can get past the inquisition, I think I’d like you to be my friend, not my enemy. Deacon, if you don’t stop stirring things up, I’m going to shoot you myself.”

The minigun spun down.

“Thank you, O Queen of the Commonwealth.”

“De nada.”

“Gracias.”

“Nope. Got that backwards Deacon. De nada is ‘you’re welcome’. Gracias is ‘thank you’.”

“Ahhhh. Gracias, Senora.”

“Close. Gracias, Senorita. Not married.”

“Gracias, Senorita then. I’m learning so much here-“

Desdemona broke into their banter. “You seem like a good fit, but let me ask you one question. The question. Would you give your life for your fellow man, even if that man were a synth?”

Suddenly the eyes of the sweet-faced woman chattering lightly with Deacon stabbed into hers like an icepick. Her look was level and cold. Des took a sharp breath. She felt like she had been pinned to the wall by a raider, and her head peeled open. Every corner was scrutinized, every thought judged. Fear skipped through her heart, and in that moment, Des knew she was not in charge. She could also see very clearly that if she didn’t pass the interrogation in Christine’s eyes, she would die.

“Yes.” Christine said finally, relinquishing her hold on Desdemona. “I would. I very likely have already, haven’t I? I risk my life every day and gladly, knowing the good people I protect get to build the lives they deserve. Deacon has explained to me some things about our synths, the good ones, not the Institute killing machines. Fabricated human tissue wrapped around a chip in their brains that’s a blank slate until someone writes something on it. The Institute prints slavery. You print a life. Wednesday has a life now, because Dr. Amari was able to print Curie’s life onto one. I believe all people, synth or born of a woman, should be able to achieve the life they want, if they’re willing to work for it. The Minutemen create and protect safe places for that to happen. But make no mistake, Railroad. If anyone harms the peace I protect, they die, synth or not.”

Deacon placed the stealth boy prototype into Desdemona’s cold hands.

“We have that, because of her, Des. She and MacCready went into the Switchboard with me to retrieve it. We would have died except she shielded us with her power armor, and shoved Mac and I behind a wall while she took out three synths in heavy armor by herself. Number Three shot out her power core with her still inside, but she still killed him, and got us to the prototype. You can look at the scars on her back, if you don’t believe me.”

“So you’re vouching for her.”

“What? Are you kidding? Des, this is someone we definitely want to have on our side. I sure as hell vouch for her. And you should too!”

Des watched Christine a moment longer. “Fine. General Christopher, I Am Desdemona, leader of the Railroad. The lady with the minigun is Glory-

“Hey! I’m no lady and you know it.” Glory stepped out of the shadows and grinned at Christine, pleased. “I’m a genuine synth. Created in the Institute, born in the Commonwealth. Nice to meet you.”

“Pleased to meet you too, Glory. See Deacon? Much nicer as a friend. I like her.”

Desdemona cleared her throat. “And this is Drummer Boy. You’ll learn more about him inside.” The edgy young man nodded tightly. 

“We’re letting you into our headquarters. You’re the first outsider ever to be given this privilege. Don’t make me regret it.” 

With that, she opened the heavy wooden door, and disappeared into the inner sanctum, that was the home of the Railroad.

*

“What the Hell, Deacon?! First you set me up in front of the Railroad firing squad, then run tests on me without my permission? We are going to revisit that discussion we had on your manners. Remember that one? Where you were lying on the floor at the Hotel Rexford and I was kicking the shit out of you and had a gun pointed at your face?”

He took in Christine’s insulted face with a grin. “Hey, it’s protocol. Tom ran every test on you that Dez would allow while you were coming in. Full EMF scan, biological sniffers, and our other "state of the art" security. You find us, we make sure you’re squeaky clean and fresh from the shower. Just one of the little services we provide. Watch for a little mint on your pillow.”

A hand grabbed her shoulder from behind. “What little mint? Not from out there, right? Have you eaten anything out there, General? Because if you have they got you!”

Christine took in Tinker Tom’s goofy head scopes and antennae with a grin. A genuine, old-fashioned kook. A brilliant one, apparently, but a bona fide nutcase all the same. She’d bet a big load of caps that his hat was lined with tinfoil.

“I’ve eaten all kinds of disgusting things out there, Tom. This morning I had a radscorpion eyeball. Kind of chewy, but they really amp you up. I can stay awake for days after chomping one of those babies down.” 

He didn’t catch her joke. ”The Institute has these tiny microscopic robots in the food, man. And they report back-“

“Even in radscorpion eyeballs?”

“Especially radscorpion eyeballs! Those Institute guys are sneaky. If you want to really be safe, let me give you a little shot. Dez - Desdemona - says no one has to, but it will kill those little robots.”

“Riiiiiight. Um, Tom-“

“See here? We got algae, some yummy bacteria culture, and just a little bit of battery acid.” He tapped a small syringe to get rid of the air bubbles and reached for her arm. “We got to burn those babies out of you. It's a hard reboot of your system, man.”

Deacon grabbed Christine and propelled her toward a broken wall. “Sorry Tom. Stuff to do. Coursers to kill, supermutants to hug, jigsaw puzzles to put together… You know. Important stuff.” He shoved her through a large hole in the rubble.

Finally out of Tom’s reach, Christine cracked up. “Sweet Jesus he’s a loon. Thanks for the rescue, Deacon.”

“You’re welcome. And I told you, you don’t have to call me Jesus. Or maybe you will. I’ve been thinking of changing my name-”

“I am not calling you Jesus.”

“What? You started it!”

“I’m pretty sure I can come up with a few better names for you. But first, you promised the Railroad would answer all of my questions. What’s a Courser? Finette said one was at the Castle.”

A robotic female voice spoke up from behind them. 

“Courser. Institute asset. A third- generation synth assigned to operate on the surface. Coursers hunt down and reclaim other third- generation synths that have escaped from the Institute. They are highly self- sufficient, trained in armed and unarmed combat, infiltration, and tracking. Agent, your arrival was not calculated.”

Christine snapped her laser rifle to zero on the eyebeam emitter of the Assaultron walking toward them.

Deacon grabbed her arm again. “Chris! Don’t-“

She yanked her arm back and kicked him squarely in the gut. He found himself on his butt, looking up the barrel of her loaded .44.

Her laser rifle never wavered from the Assaultron. “An Assaultron? What the fuck, Deacon! What kind of game-“

The minigun spun up behind her.

“NO! Glory! Don’t! Christine! PAM is friendly. She’s on our side!” Deacon choked out. He wavered for a second, then leaned to the side, and threw up.

Christine didn’t move. The minigun spun down, but remained humming.

“Desdemona,” Christine’s voice was as cold as ice. “I do not play games. Tell me what is going on.”

Her ‘or else’ hung in the air. A cold chill raced up Desdemona’s back.

Desdemona had experienced these harsh, icy fingers only twice before. The first had been when she was a small child, moments before Coursers had broken into their home and stolen her mother and father. Their cold, emotionless eyes had marked the child, but did not take her, too. In the blink of an eye, all four people had vanished in a blinding blue flash, leaving behind a lost, confused, crying little girl who would never forget the pain of that loss, nor the feeling of the frozen whisper that she hadn’t understood until it was too late. The second time was only moments before the Switchboard had been overrun by the Institute.

And she felt it now. The General was holding a rifle on PAM, and a pistol on one of her people. And from what Dez had learned from Deacon, Christine could obliterate the entire Railroad headquarters in a matter of minutes if she found them to be a threat. 

But unlike the other times the cold feeling had warned Dez, Christine was giving her time to do something before destruction hit. She was asking for an explanation. She wanted to understand. She didn’t want to destroy the Railroad if someone could show her that they were not a danger to her, or the people she protected in the Commonwealth. And the General was asking her, Desdemona, Leader of the Railroad, for that explanation. 

Desdemona opened her mouth to speak, to say something, anything, but nothing came out. Not a plea to save her parents lives. Not a command to evacuate the Switchboard. Not whatever magic words would convince Christine to not harm her people. Nothing.

The silence behind Christine stretched on. Not a soul moved. No one spoke. The miniguns hum slowed, and stopped.

Every molecule on Full Alert, Christine waited. 

Deacon coughed and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Wow. I don’t even remember eating carrots.”

Her pistol didn’t waver.

Deacon put up both hands, and slowly stood. He was as serious as she had ever seen him. 

“Christine, this is PAM. She’s with us. Remember reading about her on the terminal at the Switchboard? We found her there. Please don’t blow her up. We need her. Ask her yourself.”

“She is not a synth. She is a robot.”

“Preliminary adjustments to statistical models complete. Commencing introduction. Agent, I was, am, and will most likely be P.A.M. Predictive Analytic Machine.”

Christine stared at the robot addressing her, dumbfounded. She lowered her weapons slightly. “Well…umm… nice to meet you, PAM.”

“Introductory token recognized. Hello.”

Deacon heaved a sigh of relief as Christine sheathed her guns. “Welcome to the Railroad, General. Wow, you sure know how to make an entrance. PAM, tell her what you do.”

“My goals and the Railroad organization have a high degree of correlation. They provide data. I provide first order approximations of the behaviors of all residents of the region designated Commonwealth. Rephrasing. I predict the future.”

“Ummm-hmmm. You didn’t predict me.”

“Caution. Biological life forms behave erratically. Unpredictably. All output subject to an extremely high margin of error. You are a rogue variable. No current or previous models predict your presence or existence.”

“Fair enough.” Christine turned to Deacon with a grin. “And there you go, Master Spy. My code name is now Rogue Variable.”

“Deacon!” Desdemona struggled to keep from screeching at him. “A word…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy blahblahblah. In a film, this would all end up on the cutting room floor (do they even have those anymore?). But this is my story, and it's fun to write this kind of stuff. Enjoy.  
> As always, please leave your thoughts. 
> 
> BTW, Chapter 27 & 28 fit between Chapters 13 & 14\. I'm getting closer to catching up with myself.


	29. I Am Not a Product of My Circumstances. I Am a Product of My Decisions. - Stephen Covey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cait doesn't shoot Danse. Twice. The Scavenger Hunt of Death. Deacon makes an alarming discovery.

Chapter 29

“NONONONO!!! Don’t shoot them! I need them!” 

Paladin Danse paused in surprise as three power armored figures pounded into the compound at the Cambridge Police Station. One fired unrelentingly into the mob of feral ghouls that was threatening to overrun the last remnants of his recon team. To his shock, the other stepped out of his power armor, dropped his gun, and wearing nothing more than combat armor chestplate, began tearing into the shambling, moaning mob with his bare hands. Thunderstruck, he realized the vicious man in front of him was in actuality a woman! The third stood back, covering the carnage with his laser rifle, but not firing. 

He yanked his focus back to the danger at hand and growled. The Brotherhood never stops fighting until the enemy is defeated or until the last soldier falls. 

“Civilians in the perimeter! Check your fire!” He resumed his defense of the location, and his people. Six more fell beneath his assault before the feral hoard had been defeated.

“What th’ hell is th' matter with ye?!” The power armored figure that had been firing with notable precision, yanked off its helmet. “Did ye not hear her to tell ye to stop? Dig th’ feckin shyte out from yer ears!”

Danse found himself pinned by the roaring anger of …a woman.

Her red hair was sweaty and tousled from fighting in the armor, her deep green eyes snapped and flashed as she turned her gun directly to his face. Her face was flushed, and she glowed with adrenaline-fueled bloodlust. She was dangerous- angry, violent, and barely controlled. A warrior to rival the heroes of comic books. 

He had never seen anyone so beautiful.

Her companion wiped feral gore from her chestplate and with a quick snap of the wrist, flicked it toward the third member of their party.

“Jeez Christine! I’ve been clean all day, and you have to do that. You’re cleaning it off.” The third soldier set his rifle on the steps.

“I’m doing you a favor, you big baby. You don’t want anyone back at Sunshine to think you didn’t fight.” She grinned unrepentantly. 

The third figure removed his helmet and stared ruefully at the blob of goo, as it slowly slid into the elbow housing of his left arm and disappeared.

“I hate you.”

A crack-shot woman who fought in power armor, a second woman who fought in just a chestplate and without gun, and a man with a laser rifle, covering them but not firing. Interesting team.

“Who are you and what are you doing in our compound?” he asked briskly.

The woman in combat armor raised an eyebrow. “Saving damsels in distress, it would seem. Now who are you and why are you in OUR compound?”

The nerve! “Insubordination is a surefire way to get ejected from OUR compound. I suggest you answer my question.”

To his utter shock, the two power armored people burst into laughter. 

The woman he had been speaking to looked like she was fighting the urge to join them. Instead she waited for them to recover their composure.

“Okay, I’m going to trust you to return the courtesy, soldier. I’m Christine.” She gestured to her companions. “This is Rob MacCready, and the woman pointing her gun at your face is Cait Caitopher.”

The red-haired woman snorted.

Christine continued. “We heard your radio call for help and needed some more ferals, so we headed over. You going to be alright now?”

“We appreciate your assistance, but we were never in any danger.”

The man she had introduced as Rob MacCready let out a bark of derisive laughter. “Maybe you should have changed the tone of your transmission then. Here, let me play it for you.” He stepped out of his power armor and began poking around on a unit on Christine’s arm. A familiar female voice filled the air.

‘This is Scribe Haylen of Reconnaissance Squad Gladius to any unit within transmission range. Authorization ARX. Ferrum. Nine. Five. Our unit has sustained casualties and is running low on supplies. We’re requesting support or evac from our position at the Cambridge Police station. Automated message repeating.’

“We came to support. So I ask again, soldier,” Christine met his eyes levelly. “Who are you, and what are you doing in OUR compound?”

He returned her look, and gestured toward two uniformed people on the steps of the police station. “Over there is Scribe Haylen, the one who sent the transmission. Beside her is Knight Rhys, and I am Paladin Danse of the Brotherhood of Steel,” he said proudly. “I’ve chosen this compound as a base of operations for its tactical advantages.”

She watched him thoughtfully. “Cait, you can take your gun out of his face now-“

“BUT-” the red-haired, she-devil began.

“Simon Says, Cait.”

Cait reluctantly lowered her rifle. “I hate that feckin game.” She glared at Danse. “One toe out of line…” she promised.

Once again, Danse was entranced with her ferocity. He had never seen eyes so green, or a chin so delicate, especially on such a lethal little hellion. Her hair accented the flush in her cheeks. He wondered what she would look like outside of her power armor…

WHOA! WHAT THE HELL?! BACK UNDER CONTROL, SOLDIER! 

Christine cleared her throat. His eyes hastily returned back to her.

“So, Paladin Danse of the Brotherhood of Steel, to Cait’s original accusation, you refused my order to stand down. I don’t appreciate that, especially from a military man.” She turned to MacCready. “What’s the count?”

“In total, you and Cait are finished. You, Christine, are two ferals short of breaking even on the Bare-Handed Challenge.”

“Well, shit. See Paladin? That’s what your insubordination cost me. Come on, Rob. Maybe we can find a couple we missed back in the square. Cait, keep an eye on… my power armor. We’ll be back in a minute. Oh, and show these guys where the bolt hole is. We’ll make another somewhere else later.” 

“Hell no! Don’t ye leave me with…” she trailed off.

Rob’s laughing voice ghosted back to her. “Simon Says, Cait!”

Scowling, she stomped up the steps of the police station. “You!” she barked at the injured knight and scribe. “Clean up this mess.” 

She disappeared inside.

The look on Paladin Danse’s normally unperturbable face as he stared at the door closing behind the woman was almost comical, Scribe Haylen thought to herself with a knowing smile. When the red-haired woman had pulled off her power armor helmet and started yelling at him, Haylen had been waiting for her commanding officer to firmly put her in her place. Instead, he’d frozen, like he’d been struck by a bolt of lightning. Danse had recovered quickly, and had jumped back into interrogating their saviors, but was now stuck again, staring at the door like a brahmin that’s been shot between the eyes, but doesn’t realize it’s dead yet. 

Haylen chuckled. This should be interesting.

She slapped Knight Rhys’ hands away as he poked at the wound on his ribs and chest. “If you don’t get your dirty fingers out of there, I’m never going to get this clean.”

Rhys scowled at her. “Just hit it with a stimpak. It’ll stop hurting and I can get back to work.”

“I dunno, Knight. It looks pretty bad.” A mischievous dimple appeared in her cheek. “Might just be kinder just to shoot you.”

*

“So what’s with all the military terminology all of the sudden, Chris?” asked Rob as he jogged along beside her, trying to keep up. They’d had to go all the way to Fiddler’s Green Trailer Estates to find more ghouls for Christine to kill. She was pretty happy right now, he smiled. Achieving a goal, especially a crazy double dog dare like this ridiculous Bare-Handed Challenge always put her in a good mood.

Dust rose in small puffs beneath their feet as they trotted along, sweating in the midday heat. Clumps of brown grass dotted the barren landscape, ignoring the sun’s scorching rays, having been robbed of their reason to care by the blazing, blinding nuclear fury of 200 years ago. Bleached tree limbs and jumbled smatterings of debris joined the grass in its apathetic lament. Rob and Christine sped by, deaf to their whispering song, yet their hearts joined with the endless, silent keening for the life that had been. 

“I did a paper on the similarities in theory and philosophy of religion vs. military attitudes back in college,” she puffed, running faster. “Spent a fair time with soldiers at Fort Hagen to test my comparisons, had to learn some commands to impersonate an officer and get realtime data. Anyone who flies a flag is either military or a religious zealot, so commanding them as a superior made sense. Who knew I’d ever need it again someday? I’m glad the base survived the war. It’s comforting, in a way. Step it up, Rob, or we won’t get Cait and make it back to Sunshine before the deadline.”

“That’s it? That’s why you know so much military stuff?”

“That’s about all I know, but yeah. That and my dad read military novels all the time. He used a lot of the commands and stuff in his work. I think I told you he was in Demolitions. Had to be seriously disciplined to be part of his team. His was the best. They got all the tricky work.” She looked at him curiously. “Why do you care?”

“Umm Christine? We have a flag.”

He sped up to match her pace, his mind chewing on the information. It made sense. Here he and Deacon had been worried there was some evil, dangerous, hidden history, and it turned out that she had just learned some military jargon from her studies and her dad. Deacon was going to be so disappointed.

Christine had openly shared the story of her time in the Vault, and waking up to this nuclear wasteland. He, Preston, and Deacon had all eyed her skeptically, until she’d insisted they recover and bury the bodies from the Vault. Now, guarded day and night by the Minuteman statue, lovingly planted graves grew among the Memory Trees, across the river from Sanctuary. This was her tribute to the many lives unwillingly stolen, and a reminder to everyone who passed of the cruelty of Vault-Tec, raiders, gunners, and anyone else who would manipulate the fears of innocent people to their own ends. In little bits like this, Rob learned more and more about what the world was like before the war, and her. Most of the things she shared made her sad. 

Rob laughed aloud at the exhilarated sparkle in her eyes now, wishing he could keep her happy like this forever. He sprinted ahead.

“Hey!” she yelled after him, and sped up.

*

Her power armor had been abandoned by the front desk, but the red-haired woman was nowhere in sight. A tiny pang of loss pricked Danse’s heart.

“If that was th’ big man, come and get yer stuff!”

Smiling, he parked his armor next to hers.

He found her on her knees, rummaging around in the brig. Or rather, he found her backside. Almost hidden by the file cabinet she had pulled away from the wall, she was on her knees, with the upper half of her body disappearing into an opening between two chunks of broken wall and another cabinet. Her leg shot out, hooking on the corner of the wall, to balance herself as she reached further.

“…Damn Christine and her stupid bfmgg!…Grmmbfggg!...Damn it! This is th’ hardest feckin burrow te get in te and she knows I hate it! Grummffbllfbmfg scamperin off with that sneaky bastard and leavin me te… Son of a bmfflfmg... HA! I GOT IT!”

He crossed his arms and grinned at her muffled muttering, enjoying the view. And what a view it was! Muscles flexed on her leg as she strained to anchor herself to the wall. A strip of smooth, tanned skin tantalizingly displayed around her trim waist as she stretched into the wall. He felt an undisciplined member of his body stir as he studied how perfectly her khaki jeans accentuated the strong, soft curves of her-

“Hey! Grab this stuff big man!” she yelled, shoving food and ammo out below her flat stomach. “You’d be gettin’ it th’ quicker if ye kept yer eyes on th’ gear and off me arse.”

He jumped guiltily.

Pushing the file cabinet out further, he knelt beside her and began gathering up the equipment.

It was a surprisingly large bounty. Blankets, food, weapons, water, ammo… He heard more indistinct cursing, and something scraping along the inside of the wall. A medical box was thrust out.

“Well that’s it big man…AAAAAACK!” Her boot slipped from where it had been hooked on the corner of the wall, and she lurched forward into the hole. She shrieked.

He watched her struggle to extract herself with fascination. She kicked and wriggled, cursed, humped her hips, rocked from side to side, cursed and squirmed some more. Plaster dust drifted down to lightly shower her-

“HEY! BIG MAN, ARE YE STILL OUT THERE? I’M STUCK! CAN’T YE HELP ME?”

He startled again.

Danse grabbed her boot and tugged. She yelped, followed by more muffled cursing.

“Me shoulders are budged up. Could ye grab me hips and twist me away from th’ wall?

Below his belt, he again felt his insubordinate body leap at the request. He struggled to keep it in check. 

Cait felt his large, warm hands gently grip her hips and carefully turn her body. Feeling resistance, he stopped.

“NO, NO! Keep on! Harder, big man. I’m almost there.”

A long pause.

“Are ye okay?” Cait could still feel his hands, so she knew he hadn’t left. “Danse? Paladin?”

Suddenly he gripped her more firmly and twisted her free. His hands climbed her body like a ladder, pulling her out one strong tug at a time. Finally, she was completely out.

Cait coughed and choked on the plaster dust clouding her upper body. She felt his arm lift her up against his chest, the other hand patting her back to help her catch her breath.

She recovered to find he had been on one knee, sliding her under himself as he had cleverly braced the other against the wall to help lever her free. He didn’t release her, but kept her supported comfortably against his muscular chest. The smell of soap, sweat, work grease, and the intimate man scent that was so individual, but so alike, teased her. She felt the heat of his body breathing into her, as moments ticked by and she remained locked in his strong arms.

He didn’t want to let her go. Her skin felt like silk beneath his fingers. Her soft curves fit flawlessly to his body, the comfortable weight of her in his arms released protectiveness, and desire in rising amounts. He looked into her eyes, breathing raggedly.

And froze.

Her eyes, wide and frightened, stared into his with the paralyzed fear of a doe caught by a deathclaw. 

He released her instantly. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” he whispered, mortified that he had lost control so quickly, so completely. “That was… I’m…sorry.” He stood, not touching her, not knowing what to do.

She stayed sitting on the floor, her eyes never leaving him. Tentatively, she reached up her hand.

God he was an idiot! Danse felt even more stupid as he grasped her hand to help her up.

He almost fell on her as she quickly yanked herself up. Standing on her toes, she grabbed the front of his collar, and pulled him down to her, claiming his lips is a kiss that took his breath away. A soft groan escaped him as her curves tucked sweetly against his again. He opened his mouth, allowing her demanding tongue to fiercely caress his.

She released him. 

He stood there, dazed, staring at the hand she held splayed across the center of his chest. 

“Big man, ye did a fine job of pullin me from th’ wall, but next time, if there’s more te be had, ye ask first,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “Simon says.”

*

Haylen surreptitiously observed Danse and Cait as they worked side-by-side cleaning their power armor. There had been a very short amount of time between when the paladin had followed the woman into the Police station, and when Haylen and Rhys had come in, but something had definitely happened. The two chatted easily together, Danse smiling and asking questions, Cait smiling and answering, then asking questions of her own. He held her eyes. She blushed then yelled at him. He laughed.

Imagine! Danse laughing! 

Oh yeah. Something had definitely happened.

“…every six months or so. We have a big gatherin at one of th’ settlements. There’s music and dancin, and shops sellin food and such, and people from all over come for a weekend o’ fun. People set up tents all over th’ place. Kids run ‘round and make themselves sick eatin too many sweets, older kids sneakin off fer a kiss in the shadows, ye know how it goes.”

Danse smiled, nodding. “But where does this hunt come in?”

“Hunt. Simple way te put it. Old Ken Orton from Greentop dreamed it up. He’s th’ blacksmith up there. Calls it a ‘Scavenger Hunt o’ Death’. I’m like’n that better. Sounds a bit more fun.”

Danse chuckled. He had given up all pretense of cleaning his armor and was standing there, watching Cait’s every move with fascination, his cleaning rag dangling forgotten from his hand.

“So there’s two baskets- one has paper with numbers on them, th’other has drawings of all th’ enemies, like feral ghouls and bloatflies and such. Someone gets te choose one from each hat, usually six times, so ye end up with a list like ‘3 stingwings, 5 supermutants, 5 feral dogs, 2 mutant hounds, 13 feral ghouls, and 9 raiders. Teams take th’ lists and kill everythin on it. First team back wins.”

“Wins what?”

“Usually somethin pretty great, like specially modified guns or armor. And braggin rights til th’ next gatherin.”

“Your people aren’t afraid to fight these abominations?”

“Not any more. Well some are, but they wouldn’t be take’n th’ Hunt anyway. Christine says th’ best defense is a good offense. Insteada being afraid and waitin fer somethin te come after ye, ye go hunt it down first. And she’s right. Can’t help but make th’ Commonwealth th’ safer. And only people who are good enough fighters are allowed te’ be in it. Settlement leader has te agree yer up te th’ task before ye can even try. Ye might be up te it though, if ye have guts backin up all those muscles.” Danse gently grabbed the fierce little hand poking him in the chest and smiled at Cait.

Reluctantly releasing her, he turned back to his armor. “Oh I do.” The look he shot her had nothing to do with fighting ferals. She blushed and began scrubbing her armor with a vengeance.

Haylen was positively floored. 

Danse’s decorum was impeccable, his discipline legendary, his control of every situation absolute. Nothing ruffled him. He never flinched in battle, always knew exactly what to do and say instinctively, and did everything from training initiates to brushing his teeth with military precision. With the exception of the Elder, every soldier wanted to be just like him, and every soldier was proud to work beside him. He had no equal.

In all of her years in the Brotherhood, Haylen had never, ever, seen Danse fascinated with a woman, or honestly even notice one as more than just another soldier. Not that the girls didn’t try. Danse was a handsome man. He was considerably taller than most men, and kept his muscular body trim, even when he wasn’t training new recruits. He was strong and solid, not an ounce of fat anywhere. His soft, brown eyes, and perfect lips had made many an initiate’s heart flutter, but he had never shown the slightest interest in any of them. Haylen had come to the conclusion long ago that he preferred men.

Cait leaned over and started wiping Danse’s neglected armor. He snapped her hand with the tip of his cleaning rag and she snatched it away. They both laughed and resumed their wiping and polishing, shooting the occasional happy glance at each other.

Nope. The man definitely liked women. Or at least this one.

Haylen continued her charade of working, peeking up at Danse and Cait over the top of her terminal as often as she could without being caught.

“…it’s when ye kill things on yer list without any weapons. Bare-Handed Challenge is just that- kill with yer bare hands. Chris was settin th’ records in th’ beginning, but now everyone’s gettin so good, she has te really work te top some. Her, McCready, and I are a team fer th’ hunt today, but Chris has been hittin th’ Challenge hard. Unless someone comes back with more, she’s beat 22 raiders with 24, 32 ferals was th’ record she was lookin te beat when ye killed her ghouls here, and she finally took down a yao guai. I don’t imagine anyone’s goin te try and beat that one anytime soon. Those bastards are hard te kill even with a weapon.”

Danse stared at her incredulously. “You want me to believe she killed a yao guai with her bare hands?”

“She did. Today. Saw it with me own eyes. ‘Course it took 6 stimpaks, a med-X, and some of those hits are going te scar pretty bad, but she did it. She’s not th’ General fer nothin.”

Haylen blinked.

The door to the Cambridge Police Station flew open. Christine and Rob strolled in, followed closely by a very irritated Knight Rhys.

“…cleared out College Square?”

“And the trailer park just west of here. Lucky you. Fewer ferals to tangoo oo poor widdle Bwoverhood panties ovew.” Rob set his rifle on the desk and poked a finger at Danse’s armor. “Missed a spot there, Boss Man.”

Cait and Danse both bent closer to look. 

Rhys grunted. “So it looks like I got my surprise for the day. Keep it up and I may start believing you have some guts.”

“Imagine my joy,” Christine said drily. She turned to Cait. “Everything okay in here? My power armor…safe?”

Cait patted Danse’s arm. “All under control, General.”

Chris and Rob exchanged a glance.

Scribe Haylen stood up from behind her terminal. “Excuse me, but if you don’t mind my asking, why do you keep calling her ‘General’?”

Christine flashed a warning glance at Cait and Rob. “Joking around with me again. I’m a generally awesome person. Generally happy, generally dangerous, generally keep to myself. What was that one for, Cait?”

“Aaaah…ummm… generally… nosy?”

“Gee thanks, buddy.”

Danse eyed them suspiciously. 

Haylen broke the awkward pause. “Sir, if I may?”

“Proceed, Haylen.” Danse turned to the scribe, inwardly vowing to get back to this ‘General’ thing. If there was a military force occupying the Commonwealth, his higher-ups should be notified.

“I've modified the radio tower on the roof of the police station, but I'm afraid it just isn't enough. What we need is something that will boost the signal.”

Danse spoke directly to Christine, trying out his theory. “Our target is ArcJet Systems, and it contains the technology we need... the Deep Range Transmitter. We need to infiltrate the facility, secure the transmitter and bring it back here. So, what do you say? You willing to lend the Brotherhood of Steel a hand?”

Rob nudged her. “Chris, we already hav-“

“Paladin Danse. Why do you need to boost your signal? Who are you transmitting to?”

A-ha. “That’s not your concern, civilian.”

“Reporting information regarding what exactly? Tell me about your reconnaissance team. Is it just you, Rhys, and Haylen, or were there more?”

Infuriated, Rhys belligerently broke in. “You’re asking a lot of questions for a wastelander. Either help get the job done or leave.”

Without warning, Rob punched Rhys in the mouth.

The already-strained atmosphere of the room was punctured by the sound of seven weapons cocking as they leaped to their owner’s hands. Rhys and Rob had a rifle and pistol trained on each other. Haylen’s rifle was pointed at Rob’s head. Christine’s .44’s were focused on both Rhys and Danse. Danse’s laser rifle was aimed directly at Christine’s heart. He was disconcerted to find Cait’s gun pointed point blank in his face. Again.

No one spoke.

It was Christine who broke the silence first. Making a show of removing her fingers from the triggers, she uncocked and holstered her pistols. 

“Jesus, Rob. Really?”

“He’s an ass.”

“That he is. A lot of people are. And I agree that they all would benefit greatly from being punched in the face. But the timing here isn’t particularly great, is it? What do you suppose we can do about that, Rob?”

Cait almost laughed as Rob’s scowl deepened into something resembling the face of someone pushing out a stiff turd. 

“I’m sorry I… I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry that… AAAARGGHH!!!!” Rob grit his teeth and tried again. “You needed a punch in your rude face, but I should have waited for a better time. I’m sorry for my lousy timing in the very satisfying crack I gave you.”

Rhys’ face got redder. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t faster in blowing your brains out all over that wall-”

“And I’m terribly, terribly sorry I only got one in before we had to stop.”

“I could have wasted you in a second, but my superior was in the room. I’m sorry we weren’t alone.”

“I’m sorry you aren’t bleeding as much as I wish you were.”

“I apologize for-“

Chris broke in before the apologies could go any further south. “Good job, guys. Good apologies. Cait, Rob, put your toys away.”

She sat and crossed her feet on the desk, unconcerned that Danse still had his gun pointed at her chest. “So. What information are you in such an all-fired hurry to send?”

He appraised the ‘un-General’ closely. She was definitely in charge. And dangerous. Someone that fast with her guns, who flipped from cold and deadly, to calm and friendly that easily, and understood a situation so completely that she was indifferent to a laser rifle pointed at her chest, was someone to be wary of. Someone to report to the Elder. 

“Civilian, if any of your people draw a weapon on my team again, I will not hesitate to put them, or you down.” He set his rifle on the counter behind him. “If you were in the Brotherhood, you would follow your orders without question. As you are not, I will answer your question.”

Rhys made a disgusted noise. “Civilians,” he spat.

The look Danse shot him would have had Dog slinking off with his tail between his legs. Christine was amused to see it had the same effect on Rhys, who all but crawled around the corner into the room behind them. 

Back in command, the paladin’s attention returned to Christine. “Are you familiar with the Institute?”

She nodded.

“Can I assume they are not your allies?”

“No. The fuckers are not.”

Her vehemence left no doubt in Danse’s mind that she was telling the truth, but there was more to the story, he was sure of it. He’d circle back to that later. “Part of our mission here was to gather intelligence on the Institute. What do you know about them?” Again he noted the hatred glowing in her eyes. 

A little V appeared between her eyes as Christine took her turn to evaluate him. 

Hot, she thought. This guy was seriously hot. Like Makes My Heart Go Pitter Pat hot. But Cait was obviously smitten with Mr. Hotness, so no touch-ee there. As far as Christine could see, the sentiment was well-reciprocated. That may or may not turn out to be a good thing.

She wasn’t sure how smart he was though. The man was a True Believer. His Brotherhood was what his life revolved around, if the respect and devotion clear in his manner when he spoke of it was any indication. But she couldn’t tell if what he was saying wasn’t just garbage brainwashed into him by obviously years of being submerged in it, and spit back out every time he spoke, or if he actually had any original opinions or goals of his own rattling around in that very attractive head. 

Note to Self- Find out more about this Brotherhood, and where their headquarters is located. And who he reports to. And what their plans in the Commonwealth are. 

Danse allowed her frank appraisal. He could almost see her brain sifting and judging the possible outcomes of her choices before she made her decision. 

“Paladin Danse, the Institute attacked one of our settlements and killed 18 people total. I know they’re scientists, who’ve created three specific generations of robots, which are more commonly called synths, plus a killer-class variation called a Courser. All of our information points to their location being in the C.I.T. ruins, but we still haven’t found it, or a way in. They pop in and out, wherever and whenever they want, like bunnies from a magician’s hat. We can’t see them coming, the size of their force, or even anticipate where they’ll hit next. There’s no logic or pattern. It’s like the Great and Powerful Oz commands them on a whim, and they hop into their Star Trek telepor…” she trailed off.

“General, I didn’t understand half of that, but what I did understand correlates exactly with what we know-“

“What are your plans for the Institute?”

“That’s classified.”

“And I shared so much with you. You’re becoming predictable, Paladin.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Are they now, or are you hoping to make them, allies?”

“No. Anything else you may wish to know, you can address to the Elder of the Brotherhood.”

“Does everyone in your Brotherhood wear power armor?”

Danse’s heavy eyebrows rose at the change in subject. “Most do. Why do you ask?”

“If you contact them, will they send a vertibird to return you to the Capital Wasteland?”

“Very likely. Why are-“

“Do you think you have enough intel for the Brotherhood to come here in force, like with more vertibirds and soldiers in power armor, to destroy it?”

“That’s classified. Civilian, I’m not answering any more of your questions. I will ask one of my own, though. Are you willing to help us retrieve the deep-range transmitter from ArcJet?”

Christine stood up. “Cait, feel like helping these guys?”

“Do I?”

“You do. We've got you covered, Cait. Don’t worry. You should learn more about this Brotherhood. Might be a possible option for some people, instead of spending the rest of their lives wandering from place to place, trading an extra hand for a meager reward. Not everyone wants to live in a settlement, and do the work it takes to keep everything on track. Rob, you’re with me.”

Cait eyed Christine with consternation as the two headed out the door. “But…”

“Simon says, Cait!”

“I HATE THAT FECKIN GAME!!!!”

*

“Nancy Drew and the Mystery of the Old Clock? A Child’s Garden of Verses? Sherlock Holmes, Algebra 2, half of Moby Dick, and The Care and Feeding of Parakeets?” 

Deacon tossed the books back into the box and flopped down onto one of the two chairs in Christine’s weird living room. 

His search for the reason Christine knew so much military jargon was so far, a complete bust. The Vault was just that, a Vault. Quiet, dimly lit, and except in the areas she apparently lived in, it was almost completely empty. There were some random personal effects here and there, and this strange arrangement of a small table with a box of books and a lamp on it, and two chairs facing opposite directions. A vault suit, a gunner’s flannel shirt and jeans, mechanic’s coveralls, and some lacy undergarments sat soaking in a tub on the floor of the small shower stall. On a cafeteria table, a deck of cards sat neatly next to a half-played game of Solitaire. A few dishes were in the sink. He stuck a finger in the dishwater.

It was still warm. 

Deacon tensed. She had left for Sunshine Tidings two days ago.

The faint smell of cigars was not from a hidden bad habit of Christine’s. The malevolent feeling creeping up his back when he had laid on her bed, and handled her personal laundry had not been the product of an overactive imagination. The empty can of Nuka Cola in the trash was not hers. She hated the stuff almost as much as Preston hated Fancy Lads.

He nonchalantly turned the battered clipboard on her desk to face him. The bold, angular handwriting on the note was not Christine’s. 

There was someone else here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Cait! My favorite! And I refuse to make Danse a complete doofus. Too flimsy a character.   
> Getting closer to untangling the timeline. Time to check in on Jack, I think.   
> Thanks for sticking with me. Leave notes and thoughts please!


	30. “Whilst stay-at-home persons are searching for truth, the apple will stay on the tree.”  ― Lev Shestov

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vault 81, an accusation, an idea.
> 
> Checking in with young Jack.

Chapter 30

“Wait right there, ma’am.”

The head guard at Vault 81 pointed politely at the floor at Christine’s feet, and gestured to his fellow guard before disappearing into the security office. 

Christine nodded to the replacement guard. “Is everything okay? Did someone try to break in or hurt you?”

He ignored her.

“Diiiiiid… I do something?”

The guard fixed her with a cold glare, then his eyes slid away insultingly.

Christine was thoroughly perplexed. She had been visiting on and off for a little over five years, and with the exception of her initial visit, had never been detained, or treated with any discourtesy at all. Quite the opposite. After saving young Austin Engill from a deadly molerat disease, and helping Bobby Deluca get over his addiction to Jet, she had been greeted as a welcome addition to the Vault. She continued to scour the Vault-Tec science facility that had been hidden behind the walls of the real vault, for any molerats she may have missed on earlier trips. She saved many of the tools she found scavenging in the wastes for Calvin, the maintenance man here, brought in medical supplies to Dr. Forsythe and Rachel, shared stories of her life before the war with Miss Katy’s class, brought slips of vegetation and bags of fertilizer for Dr. Penske’s studies in hydroponics, challenged Maria Summerset’s cooking abilities, and had begun to create a library in the living quarters she had been given.

And Gwen and Lynda were raising little Jack as their own son here. For Christine, she loved coming here to watch him grow, but she couldn’t come too often, for fear of leading the Brotherhood of Steel to him and putting the Vault at risk of Elder Maxson’s wrath.

It had been almost six months since her last visit. Things couldn’t have changed that drastically in only six months, could they? Christine smiled understandingly at the guard, and strained to hear what was going on in the security office.

“… I’ll allow it. Escort her directly to my office.” Gwen’s authoritative voice held no hint of hesitation.

“But ma’am…”

“You have your orders. Bring her to my office immediately. Don’t stop for anyone.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Through the window, Christine watched his shoulders slump. He stared back through the window at her for a long moment before presenting himself in person. 

“This way, ma’am.”

 

Christine was shocked at the cold stares and hostility directed toward her. Even Horatio the hairdresser, one of the most easygoing, upbeat men she had ever met, watched her pass without a word. Residents she didn’t even know yet glared at her with open dislike. Many of those she had, like Maria’s husband Mark, had sad expressions on their faces as she walked by on her way to the Overseer’s office. 

A strangled yell issued from the store, and Alexis Combes ran out, directly at Christine.

“YOU! YOU ROTTEN LIAR! HE’S GONE! WHAT ARE ERIN AND I SUPPOSED TO DO NOW? YOU DID THIS! YOU DID THIS TO US!”

Puzzled, Christine gently caught the infuriated little fist that had been heading toward her face. She kept a hold of it, and its following partner as Alexis twisted impotently in Christine’s grasp, kicking and crying. Her daughter Erin stood in the doorway behind her, an expression of confused unhappiness etched on her tear-stained face. 

Christine spun Alexis and pinned the distraught woman’s back to her chest. 

“Shhh. It’s okay, Alexis. I’ll try to help-“

“NO! NO! You’ve done enough already! You can’t bring Holt back to me!” She sagged in Christine’s arms, crying. “It’s all your fault. All your fault. Not mine.”

Calvin reached to take her from Christine’s arms, but Christine shook her head. She turned the unresisting woman in her arms and enveloped her in a hug. Alexis struggled for a moment, then relaxed, sobbing weakly into Christine’s shoulder. “Why, Christine? Why did you even come here? How could you do this to us?” 

Erin took a step toward her. “General, my dad and Tina left the vault last week. They were headed for Hangman’s Alley. As we understand it, they intended to start a new life together at your settlement-“

“No! No they didn’t!” Alexis pushed herself roughly from Christine’s arms. She raised her chin into the air defiantly and wiped the tears from her face. “They were going for supplies. Something for the generators, I’m sure of it. He would never leave me…us. My husband loved us!”

Stunned, Christine could only stare after Alexis as Calvin led her away, his arm comfortingly around the distraught woman’s shoulders. Christine couldn’t understand the words he was murmuring, but they seemed to have a calming effect. 

“They’re both dead. No amount of blaming or accusing is going to change that.” Gwen’s commanding voice cut through the rising hubbub of the angry vault residents. The Vault 81 Overseer took up a stance next to Christine, and shot a disappointed look at the security officer, who only shrugged half-heartedly. 

Gwen surveyed the growing crowd. Some were angry, like Alexis. Some were simply sad or confused. Disbelieving. She marked the grim determination on Parker Talbot’s face. Holt had been his friend. Like most of the people waiting expectantly for her to take action, he wanted to see justice done. Some, like Austin, clearly seeing the impending confrontation, had disappeared.

Gwen understood. Overseer for almost two decades, every single person in her vault was an open book to her. She knew Earl Hemmick had tried to date Tina for years, but had consistently been turned down because of her attachment to Holt. Earl wanted Holt to be denounced as the stupid man who had gotten his would-be girlfriend killed. 

She knew old Grandpa Ellis had been wanting to leave the Vault, to ‘Go out in a blaze of glory’. As his years had begun to pile up, dying as he defended his home from raiders and supermutants had become his noble goal. After seeing the bodies brought in to Dr. Forsythe, he had retreated to his room and not been seen since. 

Likewise, Neil had long bragged to his friend Miranda about leaving the Vault to make his way in the freedom of the outside world. Since the deaths, he had been noticeably silent, working with his head down, and jumping when anyone spoke to him.

Fear, Gwen thought silently. Fear is what’s at the base of what everyone in my Vault is feeling right now. Residents had lived in the safety of the vault for their entire lives, generation after generation, imagining the nuclear wasteland outside their doors with the same terrified thrill as children afraid to look under their beds for the boogeyman. 

Then the General had walked through their door. She was a kind, caring person, not a savage, as they had expected everyone outside the vault to be. She brought them stories of the reformation of the Minutemen, the destruction of creatures and killers, and of settlers creating communities. Out in the wastes, Christine found tools and supplies needed by the residents in the vault. She told them of her life before waking in the Commonwealth. She’d even created a ‘volleyball’ court in the atrium and taught them to play the game. With every visit, the darkness under their beds receded, the boogeyman became smaller and softer. 

The deaths of Holt Combes and Tina DeLuca had brought their fears, real and imagined, surging back with the velocity of a raging radstorm. The darkness under the bed filled the whole room, the monsters stalked them in every corner of the vault, waiting to rip them apart, just like Holt and Tina. Fear is what drove her people. And they saw Christine as the conduit between their peaceful vault, and the terrors outside. They needed her accountability to harness their fear, and to make Christine leave and take the dangers with her.

Christine’s thoughtful eyes followed the expressions chasing around Gwen’s face, but she remained silent, patiently waiting for her friend to share an explanation for the resident’s animosity.

Gwen sighed. Time to do her job. The Overseer addressed the General neutrally. “The trader Lucas Miller delivered their bodies to us yesterday.”

“What was left of their bodies!” an angry voice from the gathered crowd shouted.

Christine’s eyes flashed to Erin, appalled that anyone could be so callous as to be so graphic in front of her.

More voices joined in the accusations.

“Raiders got them!” 

“You said it was getting better out there! That there were safe places!”

“Your Minutemen were killing all the mutants and raiders!” 

Christine’s concern rose as the crowd closed in on her, becoming more volatile by the moment. She might be able to contain the blows of a single woman without hurting her, but protecting herself from a large crowd without anyone getting hurt would be a tall order, even for her.

“Calm down everyone.” The Overseer’s commanding voice cut through the hubbub “Erin, please go to your quarters. I’ll come-“

“No. I want to be here. I want to see what’s going to happen.” Again, Christine was struck by the confusion on her face, so at odds from her decisive words.

“Absolutely not. This is not a matter for public debate. The General and I will handle this without-“

“It’s okay, Gwen. Overseer McNamara. Their anger has validity. If a public trial will help bring peace back to your vault, I have no problem with them witnessing the proceedings. And I promise right now that I’ll be truthful in every word I say, and will abide by your decisions.”

Gwen sent Christine a warning look. “Do you understand what you’re saying? Your words reflect on the Minutemen, as well as yourself, and whether or not we continue to allow outsiders into our Vault.”

The crowd continued its verbal rampage. “Keep them all out!”

“Strangers from the outside bring nothing but trouble!” 

“We should have never let her in!”

“I do.” The General’s voice rang over the rumblings. “The Minutemen have public forum on most things we do-“

“Most?!” Another voice rang out.

“Yes. Sometimes things like attack plans are decided in secret so there’s no chance of our target learning what we’re doing beforehand. We accept people into our settlements all the time. To believe that none of them could be a spy for another organization, like Gunners, or a specific raider band would be naïve. I think I understand what the issue is here enough to know it doesn’t involve anything that requires that level of secrecy. And honestly, I want you all to be aware of the outcome of this first-hand. Sometimes things are misunderstood in the retelling, like when you play ‘Telephone’.”

“What’s that? Is that a game?” Jack’s young voice piped up beside her.

Christine smiled at the youngster, pleased to see him, even under the circumstances. My goodness, he was getting tall! He was eight years old, going on nine, and already almost up to her shoulder. Austin had been the same age when she had first discovered Vault 81, and nowhere near that high. 

Gwen subjected her to another long stare. “I accept your offer,” she said at last. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she muttered in an undertone.

She led Christine to the top of the stairs leading down to the floor of the atrium, and directed her to the seat Officer Edwards had hastily placed there. The residents scrambled for seating below. No one wanted to miss a word.

Without any more preparation, the Overseer began. 

“General Christopher, Holt Combes and Tina DeLuca left the Vault, and were killed-“

“Horribly! Their bodies were mangled and broken and Holt had a big hook in his-“

“Howard!” the Overseer broke in quickly. “The exact details are irrelevant and Erin doesn’t need to hear that!”

Leaving him with a stern look, she returned her attention to Christine. 

“They left the Vault and were killed. We believe they thought they could safely reach whatever destination they had chosen, because you’ve come and gone for many years without any problem, and have openly spoken of the Minutemen’s progress and success in cleaning out the dangers of the Commonwealth.” She looked out on her audience. “Does anyone have anything to add?”

“You lied! It’s not safe out there!”

Erin stood. “They trusted you, General, and now they’re dead.” She addressed the crowd around her. “I know my parents didn’t get along all of the time. And I know you believe my dad and Tina ran away together to get married in Diamond City or somewhere. I honestly don’t care why they left. But they did leave. I think it was foolish of them to believe every single danger had been eliminated. There are lots more Minutemen than there were when the General first visited the Vault, but in the six or so years that have passed since then, even I don’t believe anyone could get rid of all of them so quickly. The General has spoken of progress in defeating many of them, but she never said they were all gone. She never said it was completely safe. And neither my dad nor Tina knew anything about defending themselves. A gun and knife were missing from the store when they left. If that was all they took to protect themselves, then they were foolish for that as well.” She sat.

“I think it was a selfish choice to leave too! If there was no hidden reason for them leaving, like sneaking away to be together on a more permanent basis, why did they go in the middle of the night? They rushed their departure and didn’t prepare. They didn’t take any time to train anyone to take their places to keep the generators going, or to repair broken guns and toasters and things, either.” Mark Summerset remained standing as he looked around at his fellow residents, daring anyone to deny his accusations.

His wife stood up beside him. “The entire Vault has benefitted from new traders from all over the Commonwealth, and from the General herself. There’s not a single one of you who hasn’t enjoyed the new dishes I cook up from her memories.”

Doctor Penske rose. “I have more reason than most to be glad the General came to us. My Austin wouldn’t be alive today if it hadn’t been for her. But Holt and Tina left, believing they’d be safe out there, and died, and it was on the word of the General herself.”

The crowd continued to murmur and mutter, but no one else stood. Overseer McNamara nodded to Christine, inviting her rebuttal.

The General sat thinking for a long while, and the crowd began to get restless. Finally she spoke.

“I accept guilt for Holt and Tina believing they would be safe, based on my reports of progress in killing the dangers of the Commonwealth. It was never my intention to imply everything was dead, and everyone was safe to wander around as they pleased. That Holt and Tina took a gun and knife shows me they understood that, and expected some danger. But if my words weighed heavily in their decision to leave, I accept guilt for that. From this point forward, please let me stress that I don’t believe we can ever defeat all of the mutants or synths, or gunners or bloatflies or ferals or anything else out there. In my time, we didn’t have any of those things, but still found lots of ways to harm and kill each other, so even if we do kill all of the known creatures, there’s no guarantee you’ll be completely safe outside these walls. As much as I would love to see it be safe out there, I don’t believe it will ever be completely so, no matter how hard the Minutemen work. The Brotherhood of Steel is also out there killing too, remember. But even between us, I don’t believe we will ever see that day. So I will continue to report progress to you, but please don’t believe the dangers are ever all gone, or that you can walk around out there completely safely. Please.”

“Yeah, but how you going to make it right, General? You always talk about fixing the problem, how are you going to fix this one? You can’t make Tina or Combes alive again! They’re dead! My sister is dead!”

The pain in Bobby DeLuca’s voice sliced straight through Christine’s heart. Bobby’s twin sister Tina had been with him every moment of his life. She had been his best friend, she had protected him, and she had stood with him as he struggled to kick his Jet addiction. She had always been right there beside him. Now she was gone. And he was alone.

“I… I can’t bring her back to you, Bobby, I can’t bring Holt back to Erin and Alexis. They’re dead. And you’re right, I can’t fix that. And even though I am so sorry they’re not with us anymore, I know no words of mine with change that or help ease your pain. I know this because I lost my own parents and brother in an accident before the war. My heart will never heal from that. Nor from the pain of every Minuteman who gives his life to protect the people of the Commonwealth, or every settler who has their life taken from them because we couldn’t get there fast enough to save them. I can bury their bodies, but I can’t fill the hole their loss truly means. I can’t fix this, Bobby. But I think I have an idea that might help make sure this doesn’t happen to you again. Overseer, would you like me to talk about it to you in private first?”

Gwen looked out over the people of her Vault as their attention switched to her. 

“No,” she said at last. “If I know you, and I like to think I know you pretty well by now, your idea will be somewhat crazy, but fair. If it affects everyone in this vault, then they should all have a say. But,” she said, eyeing the residents sternly again, “I have the deciding vote. Even if all of you agree with the General’s proposal, if I don’t, it doesn’t happen. Period. Agreed?”

The approval from the people was unanimous. Gwen gestured for Christine to bring her idea forth.

“I’d like to start a school here-“

“We already have a school,” Miss Katy interrupted impatiently.

Christine grinned. “Not like yours, Katy. You teach math and language and history. I want to teach everyone about the Commonwealth.” 

The crowd began all speaking at once, considering and guessing about this new concept. Gwen hushed them down and waved her hand for Christine to continue.

“Thanks, Overseer. So here’s my idea. I can’t stop anyone from leaving the vault, but I can teach you how to be better prepared if you ever do. Commonwealth Academy, if you will. When I first came out of my Vault, I knew nothing at all about the Commonwealth. Radroaches attacked me as I came out of my cryopod. Sanctuary is where a satellite location of my old college had been. The air hurt to breathe, the food made me sick, it was just a miserable way to wake up. I had to learn a little bit at a time how to help myself, to defend myself. I had wonderful friends to guide me. And when I wanted to learn more than they could teach me, we found people who could. If I can do this right, Commonwealth Academy can be a much better wake-up call for you than I got.” 

She watched the crowd carefully for any signs of an impending rebellion. Most people were frowning as they tried to understand. Some wore their disapproval openly. Others, like Austin, Erin, and Jack, watched open-mouthed. The excitement emanating from them gave the General great validation as to the future of her idea. She winked at them, and continued. 

“Here’s the plan- I can ask Cait to teach close-quarters combat. Melee skills. Rob MacCready taught me all about sniping. Shooting from a distance. Cato introduced me to guns and types of ammo, Colonel Garvey was the man who showed me how and when to use each one. Most of you never saw the molerats that bit Austin. Neither have you seen a radroach or synth or yao guai, or any other dangers out there. In the old science facility we found behind your vault, I’d like to build secure areas to study these creatures safely, and learn how to best kill them. We should create a range to practice marksmanship in, too. These are only a few of the many things I think you’d need to know, or at least understand about what’s out there. I’ll have to give this more thorough thought. And forgive my bluntness, but I don’t think any of you could make it out in the Commonwealth. You’re too soft. Even with training, you’d have a very hard time trying to convince me you could. But being in the school will help you be stronger, understand more, and make you a harder mark if anything actually tries to get in here, like a company of gunners. No offense intended, but your security team here is largely decorative. You know this yourselves.”

“Hey!” Officer Edwards interjected. “We’ve kept this vault safe for a damn lot of years!”

“Are you confident you could defend this place against a hive of supermutants? That company of gunners I just spoke of? A deathclaw? Or would they kill your forces, shred everything in your entrance, and leave your people stuck below to die when the food runs out? Or in the case of gunners, could you stop them from going down that elevator and killing every single person in the vault? That’s how they operate. They wipe a location completely, then move in. Down south is Vault 95. It was packed with Gunners. We had a hell of a time clearing it out. ”

The residents exploded. Discussions and arguments raged amongst them, ranging from shouting, to waving fists, to stalking off.

Overseer Gwen McNamara stared at Christine in shock. She couldn’t even begin to put the thoughts blasting around the inside of her head into words. 

Christine’s eyes twinkled mischievously at her. “Well, if you’re going to kick me out, might as well be for something more solid than someone else’s misinterpretation of something I said. I can’t even begin to express how sorry I am about that. But Gwen, if you do ever come to an agreement on the school, let me know. You know how to reach me. Oh, and Sturges, my master mechanic is working on a special project back in Sanctuary, but I’ll see if I can’t send him and one of his teams to help teach whoever you chose to fill the responsibilities Holt and Tina had.”

She turned to Jack, who hadn’t left her side. “I’ll teach you how to play ‘Telephone’ next time I’m here.”

With that, Christine patted Gwen on the back, and left.

 

The General was just climbing into her Warbird atop the Vault, when Gwen came running up to her. She grabbed Christine’s arm.

“Do it,” she panted, out of breath from the climb. “I want the school.”

Christine looked at her quizzically. “Your people sure didn’t seen too happy with the idea.”

“Leave them to me. I want everyone in my Vault who wants to learn, to have a safe place to do so. I want Jack to know what a yao guai looks like and how to kill it. I want a map of the Commonwealth, and if you can manage it, pictures or drawings and descriptions of every place you can. And I want field trips, like Katy does all over our vault with her class, but short ones into the surrounding areas with enough of your people guarding that there’s no danger of any of my people getting hurt. Can you take small groups to specific places on your warbird? Like a settlement so they can first-hand how people really live out there, or to Graygarden to see the robots tending the crops, or Beantown Brewery so they can see the repairs and redesigns your settlers made to produce beer and such, for themselves? Can you do this Christine? Can you really make your school happen?”

“I can and I will. I promise.” She regarded her friend shrewdly. “What’s on your mind, Gwen? You look like you’re thinking awfully hard.”

“I should know by now I can’t keep anything from you,“ she said wryly. “Here’s what I’m thinking. My people exist. They sit around and just live from day to day. Katy teaches, but she doesn’t even need to. It isn’t like the children can do anything here. Everything we do is just to get to the next day. We have no future. Your people out there, they create. They build. They grow. They learn. Every day they’re planning for the next, and the ones beyond that. They don’t just exist. They aren’t stagnant. They’re always in motion, always moving forward. I want that for my people, Christine. Not everyone will do it, but I want them to at least have the choice. Can you do that safely? And here’s the big question- can you teach them to be strong enough to live in a settlement if they want to? I trust you, Christine. General. Do you honestly believe it can be done?”

“Yes, I do, Gwen. I know some of your people will be hopelessly incompetent and must never go outside that vault. I promise I will always give you my honest evaluation of every person. I can bring you the school. We can teach your people. What I can’t do is make every person bulletproof. Everyone is different. Not everyone will be worthy of top marks. Are you okay with that?”

“I am!” Gwen snatched up her friend in a rib-cracking hug. “I am.”

“Time to go convince your vault?”

She set her chin firmly. “Yes. Wish me luck.”

Christine watched her friend climb over the edge of the rocky hill and disappear.

“Good luck my friend. And god help anyone who gets in your way.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Won't this be fun!   
> Thoughts and feedback please. Stop making me beg!
> 
> Okay, back to Cait and Danse


	31. I'll See Your Jihad and Raise You One Crusade.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse and Cait set off to ArcJet. Why do even the simplest things never go as planned?

Chapter 31

“Are ye kiddin me? Do ye ever stop yammerin on about yer bloody Brotherhood? Ad Vackawhatsis? Why th hell would ye be yellin that? Ye sound like an idiot.”

Danse smothered a sigh of frustration. “’Ad Victorium’ means ‘To Victory’. In our eyes, defeat is unacceptable because we're fighting for the future of mankind. Our rallying cry is more powerful than any weapon you could ever carry. Remember that.” 

Cait eyed Knight Rhys speculatively. “AD VICTORIUM!” she bellowed directly into his face.

Rhys was dumbfounded. “What the hell?! What’s wrong with you?!!”

Cait turned to Danse, scorn dripping from her voice. “Yeah great weapon there. He’s still standin. An I feel like an idiot fer believin it. Told ye, ye daft walkin cook pot.” 

Haylen stepped quickly into the next room, biting her lip to stifle her laughter. 

Danse stared after his retreating scribe, a look of great disgust on his normally imperturbable face. He switched his glower to Cait. “You didn’t use it correctly, soldier.”

“Me name is Cait. Ye call me ‘soldier’ one more time, an I’ll stuff yer head up yer arse fer enough that I don’t have te hear ye tryin te ‘Ad Vicimgettinshyteonmenose’ yer way out of there.”

Fresh guffaws burst from the next room, before Haylen could clamp her hand over her mouth. 

“You don’t talk to Paladin Danse like that!” Rhys stepped toward Cait, his fists drawn up in front of him. “I’ve had enough of your rudeness and insubordination, you dirty wastelander!” He swung directly at her face.

Cait dodged and watched his fist pass by, an impressed look on her face. 

“Nice one. Try not te make yer intentions so obvious. I could see that comin a mile away.” She popped him in the chin, snapping his head back. “See? Like that. Ye didn’t see that comin, did ye now?”

“KNIGHT RHYS!” Paladin Danse thundered. “You conduct is unbecoming of a soldier of the Brotherhood of Steel. Cait may not be one of us yet, but-“

“Yet?!” Cait demanded incredulously. “If ye think-“

“-you will treat her with respect. You’re on cleaning detail for a month, beginning right now. I want this place spotless by the time we return from ArcJet.”

His attention was drawn back to Cait by the familiar hiss and clank of power armor closing. Again he was struck by how fierce and beautiful she was. The polished steel perfectly accented the irritated glint in her deep green eyes. She moved gracefully in her armor like it was an extension of her body, not with the clunking awkwardness obvious in many of even the most seasoned paladins. 

She swung her combat shotgun around to point directly at Knight Rhys. “Have fun cleanin th police station. That’s an order, soldier.”

Without even a backward glance to see if Danse was following, she flipped her helmet onto her head, secured it, and headed out.

Peeking around the corner, Haylen almost lost it again. Danse was staring at the door as it slowly closed behind Cait like he’d been smacked in the head with a baseball bat. 

“Are ye comin, big man?” Cait’s voice came from the compound outside the station. Danse startled.

In an exact replica of Cait’s move, he flipped his helmet, secured it, and followed her out the door.

 

On the steps of the police station, he stopped cold.

He wasn’t sure if he should be angry at Cait’s blatant misuse of her power armor, or continue to stand there, watching in wonder as she twirled around the compound. She spun lightly, her hands rising over her head, a leg swinging tightly out behind herself. She skipped backwards, spun again, and reversed, now bringing her arms out wide and lowering her head. As strange, hoppy sort of movement, then both hands rose above her head and she leaped. 

So this was how she had become so graceful in her power armor. She… danced in it. He had never seen anyone ever use it this way. It was... arousing. Her winsome elegance was mesmerizing. He could have watched her all day.

Until he noticed the divot her current twirl was making in the hard-packed dirt of the compound. 

Oh my god. There was another. And another. And another. 

“What the hell are you doing, soldier?!”

Cait stopped mid-twirl, picked up a small chunk of the crumbling stone steps, and pegged it at Danse.

BLANG! 

“WHAT THE-“ He yanked off his helmet and inspected the scuff it had caused. “Your conduct reflects poorly on-“

“I warned ye! Stop callin me ‘soldier’! It’ll be a larger hunk of somethin heavier than yer steps flyin at ye if ye don’t stop thinkin I’m someone ye can boss around!” She stomped toward the gate leading into Cambridge town, muttering. “Reflects badly on his Ad Vicpaininmyarse. Yeah, thanks fer this, Chris. Ye owe me soooo big…”

Not hearing him behind her, she stopped. “Paladin? Danse? What’s wrong with ye now? Are we goin te ArcJet or not?”

Thoroughly mystified, she watched him disappear back into the police station, and come back out a few seconds later. 

“Right. Cait, we’ll take this alley. Follow me.” He jogged into the shadows between the buildings and disappeared.

What was that? He needed to start again? Shaking her head, Cait trotted along after him.

Scribe Haylen waved at their retreating bodies from the roof atop the police station, laughing. Rhys climbed out behind her. “What’s so funny?” he demanded.

“Nothing”, she replied, her eyes dancing. “Nothing at all. Now, you heard the Paladin. Back to work, Knight.”

 

Cait grit her teeth. Danse was in full flow. “…this far from the police station is a risk, but getting that transmitter up and running needs to be our top priority. If it were up to me, I’d relocate my team, but Scribe Haylen detected some disturbing energy reading in the area that need to be investigated. We don’t know much about them except they’re short-lived, and broadcast on a frequency only obtainable with a high level of technology-“

“Not so high. It rides a piggyback on th same carrier frequency as th classical music station, whatever a piggy is. Chris and Travis both agree th impressive part is that whoever it is can do it without disruptin th music. Sneaky. So who is it, and what’r they tryin te be sneaky fer, am I right?”

Danse’s body continued to run, but his brain went into overdrive. Chris again! Who was she? Really? Why did everyone respect her so much? She had more information on the Institute than she’s shared, of that he was certain. The signal was on the same frequency as a radio station, hmmmm…

“Cait, what do you know about that signal? The Brotherhood is concerned that whoever or whatever it is creating those energy readings might be a potential threat, so it’s my team’s job to investigate. How does your Chris know so much about the Institute? ENEMIES AT OUR 12! TAKE COVER!”

A large pack of raiders erupted below the railroad underpass in front of them. Cait could see Cere, Noah, and Cricket struggling to defend themselves. Outmanned, and with seriously less firepower, their chances of surviving the encounter were not good.

“I GOTCHE CRICKET!” In the space of a blink, Cait flipped the combat shotgun over one shoulder, and unslung her assault rifle from the other. 

BAMBAMBAMBAM! Two raiders fell before she barreled into the group like a human tank. 

She laughed out loud. This was what she was good at, and the power armor only made her melee skills that much more deadly. She snatched one raider by the neck and squeezed. Before his head had even exploded, her attention was on the raider she had backhanded with her heavy metal gauntlet, Throwing down the headless corpse, she stomped on her downed opponent, crushing his chest, while snatching the shotgun of the man behind him, crumpling it into a wad of metal and tossing it with deadly accuracy at one of three raiders running at her.

Screeching like a banshee, a female leaped onto her back, stabbing her combat knife at the seam between Cait’s helmet and shoulders. Cait leaped up and slammed down onto her back, smashing the woman like a rotted gourd.

Danse shot the two remaining raiders, and looked down at Cait with awe. 

Until she flipped off her helmet and he could clearly see her laughing her probably-quite-delightful ass off. 

Her eyes sparkled as she hooted with laughter. She reached her hand up to Danse.

“Pick me up, big man, or join me down here!”

His erection was pressing quite painfully against the inside of his power armor. This beautiful little hell-raiser had hurtled herself into battle without a second thought, shredded 6 enemies in a matter of moments, and was now on her back, in power armor, inviting her to join him.

He had always wondered if it was possible to make love in- AAAAARGH! GET YOURSELF UNDER CONTROL, SOLDIER!!!

God damn it! What was it about this woman that kept tossing his training out the window like an empty box of snack cakes? 

Struggling to master himself, he pulled her to her feet.

“WOOOOT!” Cait jumped at Danse, slamming her metal chest against his. “THAT WAS A GREAT FIGHT! DID YE SEE-“

Danse’s cock flopped just as quickly as if ice water had been poured into his armor. 

“Have you taken leave of your senses, soldier?! You’re going to dent my armor! And yours as well! Your behavior is an embarrassment to the Brotherhood.”

Cait stopped dead, and stared incredulously at Danse. 

She walked to the side of the road, picked up a rock the size of her head, and tossed it from gauntlet to metal gauntlet, eyeing him thoughtfully.

Danse drew himself up to his full height. “Don’t you dare.”

She tossed the rock up and down in the same hand, saying nothing.

“I mean it, soldier-“. 

Shit.

The rock banged forcefully off of his chest, staggering him backwards. 

Aaaand his training promptly joined the empty box of snack cakes again. “CAIT! What are you doing?! I can’t believe you threw another rock at me! And smashed your power armor into mine! You are the most undisciplined-“

“Well YOU keep callin me a soldier! An I’m not! At least not one o’ yers! I’m a Minuteman! One o’ th best, too! And th Chris ye seem so eager te learn about is our General! An we don’t order each other ‘round like children. We respect each other, an treat each other like human beings. Yer Brotherhood is a bunch o’ bossy, fancy pants who think yer better than th man next to ye because ye have a uniform! Well, yer not! I could kick yer arse inside o’ a minute, an Chris could do it twice as fast! And THAT was a chest bump, ye idiot! Our version of yer Ad Vicstupidwhateverthehellitwas! An I guarantee ye if I were te do that te Rhys, it woulda knocked his arse flat!”

“Umm, Cait?” Cere began tentatively. “I have something for you. From the General.”

Cait shot Danse a dirty look and stomped over to the caravan guard.

Danse fought to control his temper. He was furious at her! Damn she was funny! She hated his beloved Brotherhood! She was a hell of a fighter! She dented his power armor! Three times! She looked delicious in her power armor, with eyes greener than he had ever seen in his life snapping at him like the fuse on a nuka-grenade! Insubordinate, discourteous, fiery, outstanding…

God damn it. His cock was going to dent his power armor from the inside.

He didn’t know what the hell he was feeling, or thinking, or anything around her. What was she doing to him?

What was he LETTING her do to him. He was a paladin in the Brotherhood of Steel for gods sake, and he had a mission to complete, distraction or not-

Cait pounded past, her combat shotgun again in her hands.

Belatedly, Danse realized he could hear gunfire just up the hill from them. “Where are you going? We need to get to ArcJet.”

“Graygarden!” Cait threw back over her shoulder. “Somethin’s attackin Graygarden!”

“Let them take care of themselves. Our mission is of utmost importance…” 

A small rock banged off of his armor. Again.

“People, ye stupid, selfish fuck! Takin care o’ people is th important thing! What th Hell is th matter with ye?!” She disappeared over the hill.

He watched her run off in disgust. The sooner she became a member of the Brotherhood, the sooner he could discipline her into some semblance of a responsible soldier. Didn’t she understand? She was interfering with the Commonwealth’s skill in culling the weak and useless. Saving these people meant having to expend precious resources continuing to keep them safe, and debilitated the Commonwealth as a whole. Weeding out the fragile and infirm strengthened the population. This misplaced, permissive altruism toward the weak would be the first thing to go. Her focus should be on the Brotherhood, and its mission here. 

And she was smart. She’d understand the Brotherhood of Steel was the Commonwealths best chance of survival. Cait was already a remarkable fighter. She would be a great asset, knowing the Commonwealth as well as she did. He’d sponsor her himself, that way he could oversee every aspect of her training. Elder Maxson would be very pleased.

Her shout broke his pleasant reverie. “BIG MAN! DEATHCLAWS!”

Until he had the authority to do that, he’d play her game. It would give him an excellent opportunity to assess her other strengths and weaknesses. Pry some more information about these ‘Minutemen’. If they were the only occupying military force, eliminating them immediately would also eliminate any interference to the Elder’s plans for the Commonwealth.

He glanced one more time toward ArcJet, then bolted up the hill after Cait.

 

“AD VICTORIUM!”

Danse plunged into the disorganized pandemonium surging around and through an old greenhouse, firing with the confident accuracy of a Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel.

Huh. Not so disorganized. His tactical expertise registered a number of Mr. Handys zooming around the perimeter, effectively moving and containing the fracas to a specific area, away from the facility itself, and herding two deathclaws closer to the defenders. Within the circle, Cait fought with a group of people haphazardly garbed in mismatched armor parts, and with weapons in various stages of modification. As Danse stood there, an odd aerial conveyance arrived. It expelled two more figures in power armor, and additional people sporting dissimilar armor and weaponry, led by a man in an old-fashioned colonial coat and hat.

His gun was like nothing Danse had ever seen before. It was boxy, and looked like a section was missing. The man wielded it with uncommon skill, revving it up, then firing precise laser blasts where they would do the most damage. 

“Short, controlled bursts, people! Wear them down! Make them too busy defending themselves to attack!”

One deathclaw let out a stunning sonic roar, staggering most of its attackers. One power-armored soldier struggled immediately back to its feet, and sent a punishing volley from its gauss rifle directly into the eyes of its target. With another great roar, the beast collapsed to the ground.

“CLEAR! CLEAR AWAY!” 

The lesser combatants staggered and rolled to safety, some dragging their more incapacitated compatriots away from where the final deathclaw stomped and threw dirt, preparing its own devastating roar.

The second civilian in power armor hauled a double-barreled minigun to its hip and let fire, high, and away from its allies. The Deathclaw fell, its head almost completely sheared from its body.

Cait, and the power-armored figure with the gauss rifle pulled off their helmets. Danse was not at all surprised to see it was the General herself. The third did not remove its helmet. Danse marked that the soldier ignored the congratulations and thanks of the crowd around him, choosing instead to remain vigilant, guarding the General in an almost menacing stance. Hooting and shouting, the General and Cait ran at each other. Danse cringed as they leaped into the air, and crashed their armored chests together. Laughing, they wandered over to him. 

“Cut ‘em up”, Cait yelled over her shoulder. “Deathclaw barbeque tonight!” A great whooping and laughing answered her command.

Christine stopped in front of him. “Paladin Danse. Good to see you again. Nice shooting.”

“General.” He nodded curtly.

She shot a glance at Cait, who shrugged.

“Were you angry, or drunk?” 

Cait grinned, somewhat shamefacedly. “Angry.”

“Uh-huh.” Without another glance at either him or Cait, Christine headed back to the aerial vehicle. Her guard continued to watch him, as she passed. Then, very deliberately, he pointed the minigun at Danse. 

Danse watched him impassively. Inwardly he seethed. His own death meant nothing. He would die a proud solider of the Brotherhood of Steel. But very likely, these Minutemen would follow his by the deaths of Rhys and Haylen. Their information would not make it to his superiors in the Capital Wasteland, and the destruction of the Institute would be delayed until another team could be dispatched to recon the Commonwealth. The Minutemen would remain the sole, uncontested military force. They would very likely eliminate the next recon team, and any following them. His mission would remain unaccomplished.

A startling thought struck him. Maybe they were working with the Institute…

The General tapped on her guards shoulder. The minigun spun down. Reluctantly, he turned and followed her to the bird, and they took off.

Her voice floated down to him over the roar of the engine. 

“Thanks for your help Paladin. Have a nice day!”

*

“Daaaahling, you simply must remove the supermutants from the water plant again. They’re an awful nuisance, and we simply cannot water our plants with their vulgar leavings. They’ll contaminate the entire crop!”

Danse stared at the white Mr. Handy…uh Miss Nanny? Miss… uuuh…

Whatever she was, she was only one step removed from being a synth herself. 

“Cait,” he said authoritatively, "Personality should not be a part of any robot's programming. It's wrong. Though this is a clever implementation of robot-driven agriculture, these units should possess directive-only commands, not make decisions for themselves. Being self-aware is a large part of the danger synths present the Commonwealth.”

Cait sighed. Here we go again. “How many o’ these robots have ye been ‘round? The worker bots here are th only ones I ever seen that don’t.”

“Have personalities?!”

“O ‘course. Most Mr. Handys have what Chris calls ‘a British accent’, an th Miss Nanny’s all seem te be ‘French’. Chris says ‘their responses might be th product o’ a complicated and lengthy set o’ algorithms’, whatever that is, but they seem pretty ‘spontaneous’ te her. Not entirely sure what that all means, but she’s not worried they’re goin te take over th world, like ye are. Ye should go talk te Cato in Sanctuary.”

“He knows more about these robot-synths?”

Cait snorted. “Ye aren’t fer off when ye say that. He’s a Mr. Handy. Used te be named Codsworth, but when Chris came out o’ her vault, she told him ‘bout some Chinese killer guy named Cato, an he took te it so well, she renamed him.”

“He CHOSE to model his behavior after one she described, and made himself a killer?! And she rewarded his behavior with a name?!” Danse was shocked.

“Hmmm, yer right.” Cait mused. “He shoulda gotten more than that-“

“NO! No, Cait. That’s not what this is about. Robots that are self-aware and can make choices for themselves are an enormous danger to the Commonwealth. They are basically synths, and have to be destroyed.” He unslung his laser rifle and pointed it at Miss White.

“WHAT TH! WHAT TH ALMIGHTY HELL IS TH MATTER WITH YE, YE GREAT IGNORANT MAN?!” Cait smacked at Danse’s rifle, swiftly interposing herself between the angry paladin, and bewildered robot.

“Get out of the way, Cait.”

“Danse, I’ll not be lettin ye shoot her-“

“It. It’s an IT.”

“She’s a HER. An if ye shoot her, ye better be shootin me too, or I’ll be tellin th Minutemen about yer very deliberate an well-thought out bad choice, an they’ll be endin yer little recon team right here. Chris doesn’t tolerate ANYONE messin with her people. Just ask th Gunners.”

“Gunners. Where will I find them? Are they trying to reduce the synth population as well?”

“More like tryin te kill settlers, an anyone else they can get their hands on, synth or not. And ye won’t find ‘em. She killed ‘em all.”

Danse marked that Cait’s usual temper was not present. She was calm. Steady. Not confident that he wouldn’t shoot her, but at peace with the knowledge she could die for her actions. 

She believed in what she was saying. 

She would make an outstanding Brotherhood of Steel soldier. He lowered his gun.

“Cait, the mission of the B-“

She waved him off. “Save it, big man. I’ll never be one o’ yer soldiers. Ye said ye want honesty an respect? I’ll give ye honesty, til it’s not fair te what matters te me, an if ye want my respect, ye have te earn it. I’m not impressed with yer ‘protectin the Commonwealth’, which I haven’t seen yet, nor yer mission, which I have. Chris says te give ye th transmitter, so let’s just go get it an leave it at that.” 

She turned to Miss White. “I’ll tell th General about th supermutants takin up at Weston again, an foulin yer water supply. Get one o’ yer people te radio th Castle as well. Should be taken care of in no time. Let’s go, big man.”

She eyed him for a moment, then shouldered her gun, and started walking toward ArcJet. Shaking his head, Danse fell in behind her.

Supervisor Greene zoomed up behind them. “Have I got a deal for you, Cait! You’re our next contestant!”

Danse halted in his tracks. “He sounds like an announcer of some sort.”

“Game show host. Chris explained it. We play it sometimes on Friday nights. What de ye need Greene?”

“That’s the correct answer! Well done! Ladies and Gentlemen, should we tell the lucky lady what fabulous prize she’s won?”

“GREENE!” Cait poked the feisty Mr. Handy with the tip of her shotgun. “What did ye need?”

“Haha! What a kidder! Well it seems it’s your lucky day! Oberland Station has just called for help, and yooooou’re the Minuteman who’s going to save them!” 

Supervisor Greene stuck a large, bulbous metal eye in Danse’s surprised face. “Well it’s been a real pleasure. Thanks for playing!” He buzzed off toward the greenhouse, worker bots following hurriedly.

One bounced off Danse’s chest.

“Bzzzboopdingbzp.” It zoomed off.

“What the hell?!”

Cait was already on the railroad trestle crossing the river. “That was a self-aware bot tellin ye he was goin te take over th world, but in his own language, so’s ye don’t get wind o’ his plans. Are ye comin, big man?” 

*

“Are ye serious?! We ran all the way from Graygarden te help ye lift stuff?”

“I’m sorry, Cait. We told the Castle that we just needed some more people to help us build the school and another house. I didn’t realize they thought we were in danger.” Dane Parks, head man for Oberland Station stood tall, hands on his trim hips, blatantly raking her with an admiring gaze. He ran a hand through his attractively-tousled blond mane. “Can’t say as I’m sad they sent the prettiest Minuteman to me though.” His deep blue eyes sparkled with appreciation.

Cait eyed him just as boldly. Dane was her age, and well-built, tanned and strong from spending his days helping build up Oberland. He carried himself with the confident, easy grace of a twenty-something year old man who knows he’s good-looking, and can have any woman he wants. 

Danse scowled.

Louise, Rosie, and Cheddy ran up to them at top speed. 

“Did she send us more yarn? Or clothes?” Louise asked breathlessly. Rosie hugged Cait’s metal leg, looking up at her adoringly. She hooked her fingers into Cait’s armor and tried to climb up. 

Cheddy walked around the paladin, rapping his knuckles against the metal plates. “Your armor is thinner than Cait’s”, he remarked. “Want me to fix it up for you?”

What the hell?! Danse was outraged. A child rattling around on his power armor? By all that’s holy, NO ONE touches his armor but him! 

He was about to put this insolent child in his place, but saw Cait grinning at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. He calmed, and surveyed the urchin in front of him.

“You know about power armor?”

A huge smile burst onto the young boy’s face. “Yes, sir! My dad is teaching me! I’m learning about guns too. Is that a laser rifle? Is the beam stuttering at all? Because I can fix that.”

Hmmmm. A youngster who was learning to repair and modify armor and weaponry would be excellent Brotherhood squire material. What was he, 8 or 9 years old? Danse would keep an eye on him. “It would be highly unlikely that I would hand over either my armor or weapon to you, though I appreciate the offer…”

“Cheddy”’ the youngster supplied.

“Cheddy. Are you studying to be a Minuteman?”

“I AM one. My dad won’t let me guard provisioner routes yet, because I’m not tall enough, but I can shoot as well as the General-“

“Uhhh no.” Cait snickered. 

She smiled down at Rosie’s determined efforts, then bent her knee and elbow helpfully. The little girl squealed and gripped her new perches, monkeying around Cait’s side until she could grab the front of the chestplate. Sweating, Rosie’s triumphant little face popped into Cait’s view.

Cait kissed the pink lips puckered ferociously an inch from her nose. “MWAH! Good job, little one. You’re getting pretty good at this.” She settled the tiny angel in her metal arms, and turned her attention to young Louise, who was wandering blindly, Cait’s helmet atop her head. 

BLANG! Louise crashed into Danse’s leg, and stumbled back a step.

He chuckled, and turned her so she could wander in the other direction. Hands stretched in front of her for guidance, Louise rambled off, veering unsteadily toward the garden.

An unfamiliar warmth bloomed in Danse’s chest as he watched Cait and the children. He had few dim memories of his mother, and almost none of his father, but nothing, not even the Brotherhood, had ever given him the feeling of being loved that could match the joy on Rosie’s face. 

The concept of having his own family had never even crossed his mind before this moment. What would it be like to be a father, he wondered? How would it feel to teach his son to repair power armor, or have his little daughter climb up just to give him a sloppy little kiss, and be held? Could he make power armor small enough for a child to practice in? Would the children have bright green eyes and a feisty temper like their mother? Or be dark and serious like himself? His eyes sought out Cait’s, to find her staring at him with an equal thoughtfulness. 

She blushed, and turned away.

Cheddy looked crestfallen. “I hit four of the targets. She hit four of the targets. She said I was getting pretty good!”

A tall, powerfully built man joined the group and patted the youngster on the back. “She hit the next six banks of fours, too. You’ll get there, son.”

He smiled at Cait, then offered his hand to Danse. “Name’s Finn. These three are mine. There’s a fourth running around here somewhere. Cheddy, go find your brother.” The boy ran off.

Ahhh. The boy’s father. “Danse. Your son is a bright young man, Finn. Knows power armor, laser rifles, learning to be a guard. Seems a shame he’s limited to being a Minuteman. The Brotherhood of Steel-“

Finn’s entire posture changed. He bristled, his friendly demeanor quickly replaced by a forbidding expression. “No. I know your Brotherhood from the Capital Wasteland. Stay away from my boy. Stay away from all of us.” He gestured to Rosie and Louise. “Let’s go, girls.”

Rosie pecked another messy kiss on Cait’s lips, scrambled down, and ran over to hold Finn’s hand. She looked back and waved at them, before scampering off with her family. 

Danse watched them walk off, thoroughly perplexed as to why anyone would feel as Finn did about the opportunity Danse was presenting Cheddy to be a squire in the Brotherhood. These settlers were-

“Much as I would love to admire your lovely figure, I think you’ll be more helpful to our building needs if you keep your power armor on, sweet Cait. Come push this wall up so we can attach it.” Cait smiled coyly at Dane’s bold words, and followed him toward the building site.

Danse watched Dane flirt with Cait angrily. So the little boss wanted to take Cait away from him? THAT will never happen.

He stopped short. Take Cait away from him? When the hell did he decide she was his?

He watched her struggling to lift the wall. She set it back down, and looked over at him.

“Hey Big Man! Danse! I could use yer muscles over here!”

His. Yes, she was. The flame-haired hellion, with eyes greener than the grass he had always imagined the Commonwealth had been covered with before the bombs fell, and a predilection towards throwing rocks at him, would indeed be his. 

Danse stepped out of his power armor. He peeled the top half of his jumpsuit down and secured it around his waist, revealing his snugly-fitting, regulation black t-shirt, the Brotherhood of Steel insignia proudly displayed over his extremely well-defined left pectoral.

Dane watched him, feeling increasingly more inferior as each well-sculpted inch was uncovered. “Ummm, Danse was it? You would be more help with that on. These walls are heavy.”

“Don’t need it”, Danse growled. 

He stood next to Cait and braced himself against the wall. “Big man, is it? Well, let’s get this done so we can get back to the mission, little woman.”

Dane gripped the wall on the other side of Cait. “I believe it’s more polite to call her ‘little lady’. EVERYONE! LIFT!”

Danse scowled.

The wall slowly leaned upwards. A team of brahmin on the other side pulled the wall toward its attachment point. As the wall reached vertical, several other settlers balanced it from the opposite side, while still more people began securing it to the support structure. 

Cait glanced over at Danse, and almost slipped her hold on the wall. 

Thick muscle flexed all over Danse’s body as he held up the wall, each one clearly defined against a shirt that fit him like a glove. Her eyes traveled over him admiringly. Powerful legs braced a body that had benefitted well from years of strength training. His biceps bulged. His chest and abs clearly challenged his restrictive fabric sheath. Cait could clearly see his nipples, hardened by the exertion. She found herself wondering how those big, capable hands would feel… 

“If I was looking at you like that, you’d be offended.”

Cait’s eyes snapped up to meet Danse’s amused expression. 

“If I looked like that, ye wouldn’t be lookin at me at all.” she said tartly. “Ye’d be lookin fer someone with a female figure.”

“Oh I like what I see when I look at you just fine. Don’t change a thing. Please.” His soft brown eyes glowed with appreciation.

Cait found herself unable to look away from the intensity in his eyes. A fluid heat ripened low in her body, one that hadn’t been kindled in… well, ever. No man had intrigued her, no man had attracted her like Danse. He was handsome and well-built, yes, but there was something about her big man that fascinated her. It drew her to him like a magnet. His warm, brown eyes always softened for her, even when he was yelling about something or another. He never looked away when she caught him watching her. His absorption in his Brotherhood repelled her, but then he would drop his guard and behave like a human being, and she would melt, visions of his warm skin pressed to hers-

“HEY!” Dane waved his hand between their faces. “Wall is up! Let’s move on to the next one!”

Cait and Danse both blinked, confused.

Right. Oberland. Helping to put up buildings.

Danse smiled warmly at her, and held out his hand.

Christine always said not to hide, not to wait in fear until your fears found you, but to chase them down. Make them fight you on your terms. Cait had always took that to mean fighting her enemies with guns and her fists, not facing the fears inside of her. Men were animals. Untrustworthy, selfish beings who attacked your most private places like they were entitled to them. After escaping the Boss, Cait had found her most effective defense against the over-amorous to be a bold challenge she could then laugh off, and disappear. Or kill them.

But Danse was so different. She was attracted to him in places in herself she hadn’t even known existed. Places where How, and Why, and Common Sense didn’t exist. Places where her past had never been allowed to touch. He was sweet and fun, challenging… And sexy. Gods in th Hills, he was sexy!

Oh yes. Most definitely yes. Cait was going to find out exactly how that skin felt pressed to hers.

She returned his gaze, a shy question in her eyes, and placed her metal gauntlet into his waiting hand.

 

All afternoon. All damn afternoon and well into the evening, Cait and Danse had helped the settlers of Oberland Station build their school, and new house. Dane had also managed to rope them into repairing the brahmin enclosure that had suffered damage with the last feral attack. Two of the placid beasts had been torn apart before the feral hoard had been defeated, so Cait and Danse had joined the team responsible for rounding up brahmin to replace them from the surrounding hills. Six had been located and herded to Oberland, making the current enclosure too small, so they had stayed to help build fences to enlarge the pastures. 

Cait leaned over and shook her sweaty hair out. Droplets flew. 

“Whooo, I’m disgustin. Dane! I need te borrow someone’s shower!”

Danse grinned and wiped moisture from his own hair and flicked it at her. “I get it after you.” She laughed and sent another sprinkle his way.

Dane scowled at the exchange.

But all was not lost, he thought privately. “You can borrow mine. Say Danse, would you mind helping Mick and the guys get that last brahmin into the pen? Cait should be done by the time you’re finished.”

Danse watched Dane follow Cait into the house suspiciously. He had been cornered into helping again. Damn it. Helping the settlers would help the Brotherhood to win the minds and hearts of the people of the Commonwealth, but he just didn’t trust that guy around Cait. Determined to get his chore completed quickly, he jogged after the recalcitrant brahmin.

 

Mmmm, the hot water felt lovely! Cait luxuriated under the spray, letting it wash away the sweat and dirt clinging to her. And soap! She wouldn’t have to use her own precious bar. Soap was hard to come by in the Commonwealth. Scavenging turned up very little. Oddly, the bar Chris had given her had come from the supplies of a dead raider. Not someone you’d expect to appreciate a good bath. 

The people of Sunshine Tidings settlement had recently reconfigured a chem station to distill the essences from flowers. Wild squash blossom was her favorite. Cait would love to incorporate the scent into her own bar of soap, but Dane’s plain bar was serviceable. She lathered herself from toes to crown generously.

A cool, evening breeze stirred the curtain that separated the shower from the rest of Dane’s bathroom, raising bumps on her skin. Warm skin slid across her backside. She smiled at Danse’s boldness, enjoying the soft kisses pressing onto her shoulder. She felt teeth lightly nip her skin.

“Big man, I’m sure I should be angry at yer nerve, but ye feel nice, so ye get te stay.”

A low chuckle answered her. His hands slid to her hips, and he gently pulled her against his hard length. She rinsed the soap from her hair and face, and turned in his arms.

Danse stomped into Dane’s house, thoroughly out of sorts. Damn brahmin. He hoped he’d never have to deal with another of the huge, heavy, and irritatingly stupid beasts again. It had taken eight men and twenty minutes to drive the creature into its pen. Twenty minutes that he would much rather have employed taking his shower, or spending with Cait. 

An enraged screech rang thru the little house, and Dane’s naked body tumbled to the floor at Danse’s feet. Cait stormed in behind him, kicked the man onto his back, then landed a stunning stomp directly into Dane’s groin. He doubled over, retching. Undeterred and still furious, she snapped a kick into his face. A solid throat punch was his reward for allowing her kick to rock his head back. He choked, gasping and struggling to pull air into his lungs, and cradled his crotch.

“NEVER, EVER THINK YE CAN TOUCH ME EVER AGAIN, YE SNEAKY, ROTTED SACK O” SHYTE BASTARD, OR I’LL KILL YE WHERE YE STAND!”

Danse’s head exploded. He grabbed the injured man’s arm in a crushing grip, and rammed his fist into Dane’s face. He surveyed the unconscious, naked body with disgust, then hurtled it out of the house.

Still heaving with anger, he turned to Cait. He took in her bare, soapy body, and clenched fists. Rage erupted in his chest, and he stalked toward the door, intent on finishing the animal who dared to lay his unwelcome hands on her. A firm hand on his arm stopped him. 

She was staring at him, wide-eyed. And very… exposed.

Danse picked up a crocheted blanket from the back of the couch and handed it to her. When she didn’t move, he gently folded the blanket around her, covering her nakedness. 

“Let me know when you’re done with the bathroom, Cait”, he said gruffly.

She watched Danse sit down on the couch, his back facing her. 

Cait was stunned. Who was this man? This new, sweet, unexpected force in her life that had just violently defended her, respected and protected her body, and granted her the privacy to continue her ablutions in peace? Now, he sat between herself and the door to discourage any more unwanted visitors.

He half-turned in his seat. “Cait? Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

She took a step backwards, then another. 

“No. I’m… just fine.” She turned toward the bathroom, and stopped. “Danse…?”

“Yes Cait?”

She stared at this remarkable man’s profile, unsure of what she wanted to say. 

“Ummmm… nothing. I mean…we’ll get te ArcJet tomorrow. I promise.”

He nodded, and turned away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh these two are even more fun than I thought they'd be! And chapters are getting longer. Are they too long now? Should I break it up more?
> 
> Thoughts and feedback PLEEEEEEASE!


	32. The Secret of Change is to Focus All of Your Energy, Not on Fighting the Old, but Building on the New.  Socrates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fire. A happy return. A small progress. An engine core fires.

Chapter 32

“CHRISTINE!” a harsh voice ordered, muffled through the power armor helmet. “DO NOT GO IN-“

She ran into the burning cabin, disappearing from sight. 

“GODDAMIT WOMAN!” He hesitated only a second before running in after her.

The metal of his armor heated rapidly, buffered only lightly by its insulation and padding. Fire and smoke clouded the visor, limiting his vision to only a few feet. He scanned the small space wildly.

“CHRISTINE!” he shouted. “CHRISTINE! WHERE ARE YOU?!”

A burning beam broke free from the ceiling, catching him on the shoulder, flaming ash and debris washing over him in a deadly, scorching waterfall. The already-almost unbearable temperature inside the armor skyrocketed. Struggling to push away his blazing cocoon, he was struck from behind. 

“THE BABY!” Christine screamed, a heavy, blanket-wrapped figure in her arms. “BY THE BED!” She staggered toward the doorway.

He whirled around, his eyes stabbing through the smoke and flame, but he could see nothing. 

A thin, terrified wail pierced the crackling of the blaze. It repeated, terror morphing to what he prayed was not pain. He kicked aside a burning table, and ran toward the sound. 

There! There in the corner. Flames leaped and crackled, crawling across the bed, lapping hungrily at the little cradle. Tiny fists waved, a welcome flag of movement to his hazy vision. 

Careful to buffer the small body from his blistering power armor with a thick, heavy afghan, he snatched up the infant and ran for the door. He stopped short. 

Where the hell was it? The fire raged around him, reaching greedily for the tiny bundle in his arms, blocking everything in his view. All he could see through his smoking lenses were the flames, leaping and dancing, and blinding him to anything but their frenetic rhythm. Another section of the roof collapsed beside him. He turned away, shielding the baby with his body.

Voices. He could hear people yelling. He stumbled through the flaming debris toward the noise, and saw the door.

And a motionless pile of power armor clutching a large blanketed body. Christine! She hadn’t made it out!

He launched over the pile, flying out the door. Rob was darting around, trying to get close enough to Christine to hook a rope into her armor, but the heat was too intense. 

“MACCREADY!” Rob looked up just in time to catch the bundle of blanket that was shoved into his arms, before the power-armored figure dashed back into the burning house. The man re-emerged moments later, dragging Christine’s power armor, with Lucy Abernathy-March’s wrapped body tossed over his shoulder. He staggered, dropping to one knee. 

Preston raced to the man’s side, tugging the blanketed body into his own arms. The power-armored man remained on one knee, breathing heavily, still clutching Christine’s plated shoulder. He waved off the many hands reaching to help them, not knowing if they realized in their haste to help, their bare hands grabbing super-heated metal was a very bad thing indeed.

People continued to run past them, throwing bucket after bucket of water onto the blazing building, but it was too late. The beautiful little cottage Ethan March had built for his wife, was nothing more than a soggy pile of ash, and burning beams.

A shout from down the hill drew Rob’s attention. Ethan himself, stood there in shock. He dropped the lead rope on his provisioners brahmin, and pelted up the hill toward the smoking ruin, screaming for his wife.

“LUCY! OH MY GOD LUCY!” he crashed to his knees beside her.

She coughed weakly, and pushed aside the tattered, singed blanket protecting her face. “Ethan? Where’s Mellie? Is Petey okay? Where are my babies?” He looked around.

Spotting his daughter in Rob’s arms, he carefully laid the child on her breast. His eyes searched the faces of the people ringing him.

“Where is he? Is Petey with you? Is he playing in Sanctuary with Sunny?” No one met his eyes.

“PETEY!” He launched himself toward the smoldering ruins. “PETEY! NO! PETEY!”

“ETHAN, NO!” Rob tackled the distraught man. “Ethan! Listen to me! Lucy needs you!” 

Tears filled his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Ethan. You can’t save Petey. There’s nothing you can do for him now. I’m so, so sorry. Lucy needs you. Your Lucy needs you. She needs you to help her with Mellie. I’m sorry, Ethan, please. She needs you.”

Ethan struggled against Rob’s strong arms, screaming for his son. Rob continued to speak soothingly to his friend, inching him toward the man’s injured wife and daughter, and away from the smoking ashes of the rest of his world. Ethan collapsed numbly to his knees beside them. 

Lucy reached out and lovingly cupped his cheek, murmuring her comfort for his ears alone. Tears dripped onto her hand.

A petite brunette pixie brushed past Rob, to the grieving family.

“Monsieur MacCready…Rob, please get my bag from the pack on the brahmin with the happy white face. It is blue. I must help this little family. There may be burns, and damage from breathing the smoke.” Wednesday dropped to her knees and reached for Lucy’s arm. “Please hurry!”

Rob stared. Wednesday was back! The cloud of remembered pain that had been threatening to overcome him, vanished like a puddle in the sun. A huge smile burst on his face.

“Monsieur Rob!” she said sternly. “I must have this bag immediately. Or must I ask Dog to get it? Is he here?”

Rob startled, then galloped over to the provisioners team, who were placidly drinking from the March’s water trough. He riffled through the packs for her medical bag. 

“Was a minute ago”, he tossed over his shoulder. “He’s over by Christine.”

Wednesday looked around for her friends. “Where are they Rob? I cannot see them. Maybe I should check you for smoke damage too?”

He trotted back to her, bag in hand. “Over there by-“ He stopped.

Two empty suits of power armor, still glowing with heat, stood where Christine had been only moments earlier. She was gone.

*

She stood limply in the shower, her head and shoulders bowed under the pain she carried, as if it were a load of cement bags, instead of just feelings.

Just feelings, he snorted. He may be emotionally disconnected from the world, but that load of cement bags? For Christine, he wished it were inanimate, unfeeling bags of cement, instead of the dead body from today, plus six more from the arsons in Nordhagen, Warwick, and Somerville. 

The hot, cleansing water cascaded over her skin, washing away nothing that mattered to her. He watched her back slide down the wall, until she was huddled in the bottom of the shower. She didn’t cry. Just stared numbly at the wall, as she hugged her knees more tightly.

He had seen her cry many times. For the first few months, her tears came from her fear, and the almost inhuman battle within her to reconcile her old self and old world, with this new wasteland, and the woman she needed to be to survive. They had waned, blending into tears of frustration as she fought to be the strength the people of the Commonwealth needed, to believe in themselves, and the world they could rebuild, if they gave her their trust. Some days, the pressures of being the General, their leader in the daily war they waged against supermutants, the Institute, feral ghouls, raiders, and the irradiated Commonwealth itself, weighed too heavily upon her, and she came here to the Vault to release it where no one could witness her weakness. 

Today, she had watched a child die, in another fire set by some unknown force she could not catch. Four fires in a single day, in four separate settlements, all widely spaced from each other across the Commonwealth, and all consuming precious young lives in their wake.

She stood, and pressed her belly, breasts, and cheek against the steamy tile wall, arms outstretched, and palms flat. Her head was still bowed, her eyes shut. She was so still, so quiet. He had never seen her in this much pain before.

“Chris?” he began uncertainly. She didn’t answer.

He opened his mouth to call her name again, then stopped, as she turned her head to face his voice, and laid her cheek back to the wall.

“Cain.”

“Are you going to be alright?”

“No. Yes. No... Cain, sometimes I just don’t think I... I’m not…I can’t…”

“You can. You always do-“

“I wish you could come out of there! I need a hug, Cain. I need to be held while I cry my brains out. I need to feel human arms around me, and know I’m not alone, and have someone else tell ME that everything is going to be alright.”

He felt his heart constrict. “You have people who love you all over the Commonwealth.” And me. Right here. Behind this damn wall. “Chris…”.

“I have people who don’t need to see me cry. I can’t have frustration with them. I can’t hurt. I can only have answers. All the answers, all the time. I…I…well at least I have this wall.” 

She turned her face away. “I’m sorry, Cain. That was unfair. I’ll be okay in a couple minutes.”

She heard a distinct click as the dim light in the common showers went out, but didn’t bother to open her eyes. She was lost in her pain.

“Chris.” She felt his presence beside her. His low, gravelly voice caressed her name, volumes etched into the single syllable. His hand touched hers. “You tell me when you don’t need me-“

His eyes widened as he felt her hand slip from his, joining the other as they both slid under his open shirt, around his bare torso, enclosing him tightly in her arms. Her body pressed to his, her face buried in his neck. He felt her shoulders lurch, then lurch again, then again and again and again as her tears finally burst free. He wrapped an arm around her, the other holding her head to him as she cried. He found himself rocking her gently, and laid his cheek on her wet hair.

“It’s okay, Chris. It’s going to be okay. You‘ll figure this out. I’ll help you. Go ahead and cry. I’ve got you.”

She sobbed, silent as always, clinging to him so tightly he felt she would climb inside of him if she could.

Wonder filled him as she allowed her pain voice. Stricken, wracking moans forced themselves from between her clenched teeth. She choked, clutching at his body, a drowning woman clinging to what she prayed would keep her afloat. Then her cries would break free, and she would go under again, crying out her hopeless, endless pain.

He stood there in the dark with her, the shower soaking through his clothing, supporting her body with his own as she grieved. The loss of another life, her inability to stop it, her fear of not being enough for the people who needed her, her agony for another family’s pain. 

If holding her was what she needed him to do, he would hold her forever.

*

“Wednesday!” Rob hovered behind her, almost dancing with excitement. Having her home was more exciting than when he had found the last issue of Grognak the Barbarian, the one with the bat-babies. 

“Monsieur Rob, if you don’t-“

“RobRobRobRobRob! No Monsieur. Just plain Rob. Please, Wednesday!”

“I can call you this, if you wish. RobRobRobRobRob just plain Rob, please hand me that towel. My work is almost completed here.”

If there had been a wall near, Rob would have banged his head on it in frustration. He handed her the towel. “Wednesday, my name is Robert Joseph MacCready. Please call me Rob.”

“Rob. I have heard Christine call you Bobby Joe. Is this acceptable also?

“She only calls me that when I irritate her.”

“Then I shall call you this when you irritate me as well.”

She patted Ethan’s hand. “Monsieur March, your wife and baby, they will be fine. The burns are light, and should heal quickly, and they inhaled very little smoke, which is a blessing. I think the greatest damage is in your wife’s heart. I can see it in yours too. This will take much longer to heal. You and she, and your little daughter Melody, are the finest balm, better than anything I could give you in a jar, for this healing. I am sorry I could do no more, and I am so terribly sorry for your son to be gone from you. I hope you can take some comfort in that he died knowing that he was loved very, very much.”

Rob stared at her. My Lucy died knowing I loved her very, very much. 

His beautiful, brave Lucy had known that there had been no way he could have saved her and Duncan both. She had known he would have thrown himself to the ferals, so she could get the child to safety. That’s why she had grabbed the feral reaching for their son, instead of running. That’s why she had drawn their attention to her. To save him and Duncan.

Preston had told him that lives were taken every day, and that Christine had said she would choose to give hers, instead of letting it be taken from her, if it would save the person beside her. Lucy had believed this too. She had made the choice to give her life, and give him an extra second to save Duncan, instead of letting all three of their lives be taken. 

And Duncan, the child born from their love, needed to be safe, to be brought up healthy and whole, not the distorted child of the half of a man that had remained, when she was gone. 

They were both gone from him now. Time had allowed him to distance himself from the pain of his loss, close enough to still see them, but far enough away to heal. Rob smiled. He knew, that they had been very, very loved.

Peace, long denied, finally settled into his heart.

A warm hand took his own. “Rob? Are you alright? Do you have a pain you wish me to heal?”

Rob’s eyes came back into focus on the tiny lady standing before him, her bright brown eyes staring into his with concern.

“No!” He captured Wednesday, swooping her into his arms, with a big, fat kiss. He spun her around. “You’ve done a great job already!” 

He kissed her again, and set her back onto her own feet. “I’m glad you’re home.”

“Is this my home? I worked in the vault for many, many years, found my body in Dr. Amari’s clinic, joined Jolly Folly’s caravan to the Capital Wasteland, lived briefly with Duncan and his family, returned with the caravan to Goodneighbor, and then walked with the provisioner Ethan here, to Abernathy Village. I think I do not have a home. If this is your home, I would like it to be mine also. Rob, I would like to have a home with you.”

Surprise brightened his eyes. “You want to live with me? Like, in the same house and everything? I don’t live right exactly here. My house is over the hill, in Sanctuary. Are you sure? I mean, I’m a terrible slob, and I can’t cook, and I get drunk and noisy sometimes“, he babbled.

“You will pick things up behind yourself. I will help you to remember this. And I can’t cook either. At least I don’t think so. I’ve never tried. We shall learn together, yes?”

“So… what about the drunk and noisy part?”

Wednesday pursed her lips. “I have never been drunk either, Rob. It may be that I am noisy too. We shall have to find out.”

He grinned.

“But what about you? I wish to make a clinic, and place to study, and work, and teach others how to care for the sick and injured properly. I will spend much time there. People may wake us in the late night needing help, or I may need to leave hurriedly, and stay away from you for many days at a time. Maybe you will find smelly socks.”

“Smelly socks? Your feet smell? Why would I find smelly socks?”

She looked at him very seriously. “Anneka, this is Jolly’s wife, said it drives her crazy because her husband leaves them everywhere. I have always thought driving one crazy meant another thing, one to do with attraction, and sex, but I am wrong in this. I don’t want to drive you crazy with the dirty socks.”

“Hmmmm. Hold still a minute.” 

Rob ran his nose behind her ear, bit the lobe lightly, and then kissed it. 

Wednesday shivered. “Ooooo! This is-“

“Um-huh. Good.” His lips dragged along the tops of her shoulder blades, to the other ear. From behind, he pulled her body gently, but firmly to his, sliding his hands across her torso, and down her stomach, nibbling her other ear. “How am I doing? Am I driving you crazy?”

“Oh yes! This is wonderful! I much prefer this driving me crazy. Perhaps when I wish you to do this, I will leave dirty socks where they will drive you crazy. Will you have dirty socks for me?”

He smiled, and turned her to face him. “That would be fine, Wednesday. Throw dirty socks everywhere. So will I. I will be happy to drive you crazy any time you want.”

She squealed and hugged him, staying happily within the circle of his arms. “I have so many feelings, they crowd my body and I don’t know what to do with them. Being a human is very complex, much more so than I realized. Will you help me learn about these feelings? For science, of course.”

Rob’s heart fell. For science. 

Sweet, brown eyes gazed up at him, her delicious, tempting pink lips only inches away. Her soft body pressed against him, lighting fires in places that had remained untouched for years. Chris had stirred them, but that was all. She was not the woman for him at all. But Wednesday…

For science. 

For science.

Only inches away.

Rob leaned in, pressing his warm lips to hers. He felt her still, then gently return the caress, imitating his movements. 

“For science”, he murmured against her lips. He released her, but remained within an inch of her mouth. “Want some more science?”

“Oh yes, Rob! Please show me more!” He chuckled in satisfaction, and returned to his very pleasant lesson.

Suddenly he broke away. “CHRIS!”

Wednesday looked around in confusion.

He grabbed her hand and started running toward Sanctuary, pulling her with him. “She’ll need you, Wednesday. She collapsed before she could get out of the burning house. You need to see if she’s okay. She’s probably at the vault. She spends most of her free time there. And the guy in the other suit of power armor, he-”

Rob stopped dead, remembering the gruff voice calling his name, and tossing him the baby, before lunging back into the flames to save Christine. Who was that guy? He didn’t sound like anyone Rob knew, and he knew every Minuteman in the Commonwealth.

Christine spends most of her free time in the vault…

Deacon had said the vault smelled lightly of cigars…

“Rob?” Wednesday was looking up at his distracted face with concern.

He stared at her for a moment, coming to a decision. He tugged her hand. 

“Come on, Wednesday. We’re going to find Chris, and find out what’s going on.

*

Her tears slowly stopped. But she did not release him.

Christine’s hands slid up his back lingeringly, then down to his waist, feeling him, lightly tracing his scars. One hand followed a long scar that stretched from behind his right shoulder to just above his navel, a war wound from a job gone grievously wrong. He had persevered and completed the mission, but it had cost him dearly. At the moment, he wasn’t sure if it actually had been bad luck, or profoundly good. He struggled to control the responses of his body to her sweet examinations. 

Her gentle hand explored up his chest to another scar on his right pectoral. She pressed her palm flat to the center of his chest.

“Your shirt is unbuttoned.”

“You wanted to feel a human hold you”, he said huskily. He grabbed the hand that had begun to wander across his body again, and held it away. “I am very, very human, Christine.”

“I like your skin. How is it that such soft skin can contain such hard muscle?”

He drew in a ragged breath. He couldn’t answer.

He let her tug her hand free, and continue her curious journey up his chest, and neck. She ran her fingers lightly along his jaw. They came to his lips and stopped.

He kissed her fingers lightly, then, shocked at his own daring, enclosed them in own warm, trembling hand, and pressed them back to his chest.

Her head tucked comfortably against his shoulder and neck again. “Why do you hide from me, Cain?”

He froze.

Why? Because I’m a monster, Christine. Someone who doesn’t deserve the rare and beautiful, genuinely good woman in my arms. Because I terrify people with my very presence. Because I did this to you. Because when you finally see me, you’ll want me dead. Because even if the most I’ll ever have of you is to comfort you, and hold you to me in the dark, I’ll always want more, and you’ll never give it to me, if you see me. I see you naked, but you trust me to keep myself in check while you shower and change clothes. You trust me with your tears, your vulnerability. I will lose that trust when you see me. And that will kill me. You gave me power armor, so I could stay by your side while you save your Commonwealth. And I will do it, and sit in our chairs with you and read, because you are the one truly good thing I have ever had in my life, and I’m not ready to lose you. I’ll never be. That’s why, Christine. That’s why I hide from you.

His eyes closed, as he felt her breath melt into a soft kiss on his neck. Her hand slid up, and nudged his face lower, her kisses and nips wandering along his jaw toward his lips.

He held his breath.

“Chris? Christine are you down here? Wednesday’s back! She’s back and wants to make sure you’re okay after the fire.”

Rob’s voice echoed through the silent vault, as the lowering elevator platform ground to a halt, its metal gates screeching against the cracked cement walls as they rose.

He paused. “Well, your body at least,” he added.

Wednesday’s sweet, innocent voice joined his. “I cannot heal your heart. It hurts badly. I know this. Are you in this dark place, Christine? This cannot be good for you. You need sunshine, like Dog. He is very happy to see me. I brought him a new teddy bear. He ran with it to my new friend, Preston. I think this is because he cannot find you. I have brought for you a gift as well. Are you in the shower? I think I hear water.”

Christine stood alone in the dim light of the shower, under water that was rapidly going cold. 

She sighed. “Yes, I am. Stay where you are. I’ll be decent in a moment.”

“And dressed?”

“Oh har har har, Rob. Out in a sec.”

*

“Commencing termination of organic life form.” Monotone synth voices layered one over the next, punctuated by the ozone zing of Danse’s laser rifle.

ZPANGZPANGZPANG!

“I regret any suffering that may occur.” “Destruction of fellow synth verified.” “Unit critically damaged- repairs impossible. “Terminating with extreme prejudice.” “Engaging.” “CQB protocol engaged.”

ZPANG! ZPANG!

Danse’s deep, authoritative voice broke through the mechanical chatter. “Cait! If these things keep coming, we’ll be overrun! Find auxiliary power control! We have to get to the deep-range transmitter!” 

BAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAM!

Three more synths fell to Cait’s automatic assault rifle, as she ignored his terse command. She kicked her broken helmet to the side, then stepped behind Danse and quickly reloaded.

“CAIT! THE POWER!”

“I CAN’T BE LEAVIN YE HERE TE KILL ALL OF ‘EM BY YERSELF! THEY’LL BE BLOWIN YE TE BITS, AND I’LL BE DAMNED IF I’M GOIN TO BE KISSIN A PILE O’ BITS TE SLEEP AT NIGHT.”

Danse accidentally shot a propane canister, sending it caroming around the engine core chamber. They both dropped to the floor to avoid the deadly projectile.

He stared through his visor at her mischievous green eyes. “Cait, I know you don’t want to be referred to as a soldier, but sooner or later you’re going to have to understand that I AM one. It’s all I know. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be. In my eyes, it’s the highest compliment I could pay you, to call you a soldier. Please don’t take this wrong, but as one soldier to another, please stay focused on the mission. As a man, I’d like to ask you to please help ME stay focused on our mission, and not distract me by saying things like that, especially in the middle of a firefight! Now go get that auxiliary power turned on!”

He leaped up, firing into a group of three synths that had dropped from the catwalks above, right behind her. 

“GO NOW, CAIT!”

She scuttled through the broken blast doors that seemed to be the only functioning entrance or exit from the test chamber, and disappeared down the hallway. At the end was an observation room of sorts. None of the lights or buttons on the computer panel were on, so Cait began shoving things aside, trying to find a source of power. 

She tripped over a large, awkward, weapon-looking thing, just catching herself on a table before crashing to the ground. The strap of her pack was caught on one of the many odd bits poking from its carapace, so she left it there, and struggled to her feet.

Damn power armor. She loved her power armor. It was one of her very favorite things, but one minute she was invincible, a bulletproof spawn of hell, the next, a fat, clumsy mirelurk on its back. 

She needed to dance more. That would help. Glancing out the filthy, foggy observation window to where Danse continued to mow down wave upon wave of attacking synths, she knew who she’d like to be dancing with. Danse-ing with…

She snickered. Good one. Chris would’ve been proud.

“CAIT! HURRY!”

“I’M LOOKIN!”

She stared at the control panel. “Would be nice if I could be readin th better”, she muttered under her breath. 

Cait suddenly realized the low hum she could hear between blasts of laser fire outside the door, was a power generator! She pushed through a crumbling hole in the wall. There, in all of its grumbling glory, was the rusted power supply they needed. Hurriedly, she rattled through the letter matching game on the connected terminal, and activated the option that included the word ‘power’.

Wait. Did she have to divert the power to the elevator specifically? There was no option to do that on the terminal. Maybe in the observation room? 

Cait climbed back into the observation room, and was delighted to find the lights and buttons on the computer panel all winking and flashing.

A large square red button in the center had two words beneath it, but she couldn’t read them. E…… Start. Elevator Start? Cait pushed the button, then ran out to help Danse finish off the synth army.

A metallic voice echoed through the engine core chamber, startling them both.

“Command Accepted. Commencing Five Second Countdown to Engine Core Test Firing- “.

Danse wheeled on her. “CAIT! WHAT DID YOU DO?”

“Five…”

She looked at him in surprise. “Turned on th elevator. Sounds like it’ll be ready te go in five seconds. I can count to five, ye know. Should be enough time te finish off th last o’ these damn synths.” She turned and began firing into the new crop of synths that had dropped down from above.

“Four…”

Danse saw her helmet on the floor by the wall. He lunged for it. “CAIT! GET BACK INTO THAT ROOM!”

“Three…”

A synth ran at him, brandishing a shock baton with unwavering intent. He blew off its head and kept going. He snatched up the helmet.

“Te hell I will! Not lettin ye have all th fun!”

“Two…”

Danse turned toward Cait and ran as if his life depended on it. Damn it, hers did! “CAIT!”

“One. Engine Firing.” Above him, the huge engine core began to heat up, sucking all of the air from the room. It whined briefly, then in a tremendous, thundering blast-

Danse tackled Cait at full speed, and jammed her helmet on. He kept it clamped on with an iron grip. 

Cait struggled. “Get off, ye daft bastard! I told ye-“

-the engine fired.

A solid, unbroken wave of heat and fire pounded down on their power-armored bodies from above. Danse wrapped himself around Cait as much as their armor allowed, desperately trying to shield her from the blistering assault. He felt the skin beneath his mechanized joints beginning to scorch, and struggled to hold back his shouts. Cait screamed.

As quickly as it had begun, the engine powered down.

“Test Firing Completed, With Efficiency Rating Of Ninety-Four Point Six Percent.”

Danse lay there, breathing heavily, still wrapped around Cait, who was quiet and unmoving beneath his steel body.

“Cait?” She didn’t move. 

He released his hold on her helmet. “Cait?” he said a little louder. 

She still didn’t move. Panic, threaded thickly with shadows of his own incompetence, threatened to overcome Paladin Danse.

The supermutants, and his best friend Cutler, killed by his own hand.

Knight Keane, killed by raiders, and feral ghouls. 

Knight Brach and the landmine. 

Knight Worwick, his leg and torso torn apart by bullets. Scribe Haylen’s agony in having to administer a lethal dose of painkillers after two days of trying to save him.

A sledgehammer biting into the side of Knight Sergeant Dawes head at Fort Strong.

Knight Rhys crumpled on the steps of the Cambridge Police Station.

Cait lying motionless beneath him, her quick wit and feisty mouth silenced forever.

He had failed them all. He, Paladin Danse, the most experienced, most highly decorated soldier in the Brotherhood of Steel, had led them all to their deaths. They had died on his watch. Died trusting him to lead them to victory. They had put their faith in him, and he had rewarded their dedication with his incompetence, his inability to properly foresee the op, and prepare accordingly. Thanks to him, Paladin Danse, they were all dead. 

He laid his helmet back against Cait, thankful that it hid his shame from the world, as hot tears threatened to spill from his brimming eyes.

“Danse…?” 

Cait stirred lightly beneath him. “Danse? Are ye okay? Yer damn heavy, ye know.”

“CAIT!” Danse struggled to his feet, his armored hands wrestling to pull her power armor upright. He fell to his knee, and she teetered back toward the scorched floor. Danse surged to his feet, yanking her up with him. He tore off his helmet, throwing it into a corner, and pulled her malfunctioning helmet free.

Dazed, bright green eyes stared into his concerned face. 

“Are you alright, Cait? Are you burnt? Can you hear me? Cait?”

A smile leaped across her face. To his complete shock, she burst into delighted laughter.

“Did ye see that?! That damn thing fired down on us! I feel kinda cooked, but did ye see the white fire? I’ve never been INSIDE a fire before! That was AMAZIN!!!”

He said nothing, just continued to stare at her.

She peered at him more closely. “Are ye okay, big man? Did yer brain get fried? Can ye say somethin te me?”

His brown eyes softened as he watched her search his face with concern.

This woman was truly remarkable. Cait had refused to leave his side, fighting wave after wave of synths, solidly protecting his back. She had found delight in being the focus of an engine core firing, thrilled at being inside the flames! She... she…

Damn it, he was going to get her killed. She distracted him from the mission. She pulled at something deep within himself, something that he had found easy to conveniently ignore for years. Then she had burst into his life, destroying feral ghouls with outstanding precision, killing raiders with joy, yes joy, and completely demolishing the military lockbox his heart has been thoroughly encased in. Until her. Until she had shown up with the key.

He remembered her green, green eyes sparkling at him, as she had invited him to join her there on the ground in her power armor. His body stirred.

He couldn’t pay attention around her. Couldn’t focus on the mission. 

No. He was a Paladin. Paladin Danse of the Brotherhood of Steel. His mission was to protect his people and the Commonwealth, and remove technology from the undisciplined hands of non- Brotherhood soldiers, and keep it safe. Right now, his mission was to retrieve the deep-range transmitter, and use it to contact the Elder in the Capital Wasteland, for the purpose of destroying the Institute- the creator of synths, the truest, most diabolical danger to the Elder’s plans for the Commonwealth. He, Paladin Danse, was the only line of defense between his small squad, and bringing the Elder here. He must not fail. The Brotherhood needed him.

And Cait was a serious distraction from that mission. He hadn’t made her keep her broken helmet on, for the protection it gave her, even in its minimally functional state. He hadn’t kept track of what she was doing in the control room, and she had somehow managed to fire the rocket engine core, almost killing them both. That was on him. That was a lapse in his responsibility as her commanding officer. She may be here to help him accomplish the goal to possess the transmitter, but she was an untrained civilian, a responsibility of his own to keep safe while on their mission. He was a Paladin. Paladin Danse of the Brotherhood of Steel. He would not fail.

His eyes hardened. “Cait, time to get the transmitter. Let’s go, soldier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I did manage to get a bit of Cait and Danse in there. A fair number of things have to come together before I can take the next big step. Looking forward to your feedback!


	33. ... It's a Journey of Recovery. It's a Journey of Uncovering Your Own Inner Nature. It's Already There.  -Billy Corgan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse kills a synth with a teddy bear. Momentous events. Rob's discovery.

Chapter 33

 

Cait stared after him. “Are ye kiddin? Ye know, when ye said that callin me a soldier was a compliment, I believed ye, but I got te tell ye, it sure doesn’t sound like one when ye say it like that.”

“It is. Move it, soldier. We have a job to do.” Danse headed to the elevator and pushed the button.

“Going down”, a disembodied voice intoned. The elevator dinged and the door slid open.

“No.”

Danse stepped in and turned to face her. “Get in, soldier.”

“No.” Cait repeated.

Paladin Danse held his arm up to stop the elevator door from closing. “Cait, I don’t think you understand what’s going on here. The Brotherhood of Steel is the Commonwealth’s last hope for survival. Every man, woman, and child here is in mortal danger. If we fail to get the transmitter, we fail to bring the Elder and the Brotherhood here. If we fail in that, it’s only a matter of time before the enemy overwhelms the population. Cleansing the Commonwealth is our duty, and I will gladly spill my own blood if it ensures our victory. I would like to think that I don’t have to give my life today, when I have you with me to defeat the synths that are already in the building, but I will…”

His voice trailed off as Cait walked away. 

She walked through he blast doors and back into the observation room.

What the hell? Paladin Danse made an exasperated noise. This is the last damn time I work with a civilian, he grumbled angrily. I don’t care how beautiful she is. And amazing. And… Damn it.

He could hear her rummaging around. A garbled male voice drifted over to him, but he couldn’t make out the words. It sounded like a holotape recording. More rummaging around. He heard what sounded like a minigun spinning up.

A series of crashes, punctuated by Cait’s surprised shouts sent Danse rocketing into observation room. He skidded to a stop, and scrambled out just as quickly as he had entered, chased by a chessboard, a yellow plate, and a bottle of Wonderglue. They smashed onto the wall directly behind where he had entered.

Paladin Danse had had enough. “SOLDIER! FRONT AND CENTER! WE ARE GOING TO HAVE A TALK ABOUT YOUR-“

A broken lamp, and three burnt books hit the wall. Cait hooted with glee.

“SOLDIER!-“

Cait came around the corner of the doors, and pointed a huge, ungainly weapon directly at Danse.

“Four times ye jes called me a soldier again. One.”

A wrench shot from the muzzle of the gun, and slammed into his chest armor, leaving a dent.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!“

“Two.” A cracked bowl exploded against his thigh armor. Glass shards flew.

“CAIT!”

“Three. Are ye understandin the problem yet?” A saucepan hit his other leg, and fell to the floor, the entire base caved in.

“Yes I understand! Don’t call you ‘soldier’! Got it!”

A fork stabbed into the ground, right in front of his foot, embedding itself to the handle. He stared at it, then stared at Cait in shock.

“That could have punctured right through my armor, sold… Cait. Look, I understand that you’re upset with me right now. I get that. But we’re on a mission and… what IS that thing? “

Cait stormed up to him, and yanked on his chest armor until he was bent over, eye to eye with her. Holding him firmly in place, she kissed him fiercely, pouring her frustration and passion into him with a vehemence that astonished them both.

She pulled away, her green eyes snapping. “Stupidest damn man I ever met, an I fall fer him like a rock. Figures.” She stomped off muttering.

He stared after her. He felt thoroughly unbalanced. What the hell was he… how could she just…that felt amazing! What the hell am I…

“Cait…” he began uncertainly.

She stopped at the elevator door and hit the button. The door dinged open.

“Th man on th holotape called it a ‘Junk Jet’. It shoots whatever ye stick in it. I thought it’d be kinda fun te use against any synths that might be in th control room upstairs. I have it loaded with a whole boxful of forks an clipboards an stuff.”

He opened his mouth to speak. 

“No. Jes listen fer a sec, big man. I don’t care what ye mean when ye call me a soldier. I don’t like it, so don’t. An i’ll never be one o’ yer Brotherhood, so ye can stop bossin me ‘round. I told Chris I’d give ye th transmitter, an I will. Keep yer blood safe an on yer insides right down here. I’ll be back in a minute.” She stepped into the elevator and pushed the button. The doors slid closed on the very confused face of Paladin Danse.

 

Monotone synthetic voices greeted Cait as the elevator door opened on the upper catwalk. Blue laser fire streaked around her. Cait threw herself to the deck. 

“Commencing termination of organic life form.”

“Following Institute protocol. Eliminating hostile.”

“Assessment- you must die.” Synths poured through the door from the control room onto the platform with her.

Cait rolled onto her side, hauled Spray and Pray up in front of her, and pulled the trigger.  
Explosive .45 bullets ripped through the onrushing synth hoard like they were made of old pre-war money, dropping them in seconds. A handful broke away and retreated into the control room. 

The elevator dinged behind her.

“Shyte!” Cait scrambled over the fallen Junk Jet, and ran into the control room after them. She dove behind a desk, searching frantically for a drawer big enough to hide the deep- range transmitter Cere had passed to her from Christine, before Danse could see what she was doing. She snatched her hand back as a laser bolt scorched the drawer she had just wrenched open. Another synth ran toward her, waving a shock baton.

Hmmm. I’ve wanted on o’ those. 

Cait tackled him, dragging him behind the desk. Using the metal carcass as a shield, she stuffed the transmitter into the drawer, then fired around the metal skeleton, taking out the synth who had been shooting at her.

“AD VICTORIUM!” 

PING! THWAK! FOOMPF! FOOMPF! BLAM! CHANGCHANGCHANG!

The last four synths fell, pierced and bludgeoned by a dinner knife, box of Abraxo cleanser, two teddy bears, a masonry hammer, and three forks.

Paladin Danse stood in the doorway, patting the Junk Jet in his arms fondly. “This is a highly unconventional weapon, but as you said, fun! And very effective. I can honestly say that this is the first time I’ve ever killed anything with a teddy bear. Cait, what are you doing over there?”

Cait’s head popped up from behind a desk. “Ummmmm… looking fer th transmitter…”

“Damn it. I don’t see the device anywhere. Fan out and check the synth remains. They may have been after the transmitter as well.” He strode to the nearest synth corpse and examined it closely. Throwing it down, he headed for the next, opening and closing drawers, trunks, and medical emergency boxes on his way.

“It has to be here somewhere”, he muttered.

“I got it!” Cait triumphantly held up the transmitter, and slammed a desk drawer, making it very obvious that she had indeed located it there. 

Danse ran to her, still cuddling the Junk Jet. “Well done, sold- Cait! Let’s take that service elevator down. We need to get the transmitter back to the police station as quickly as possible.”

Cait breathed a sigh of relief, and headed for the elevator.

 

They were almost to the dilapidated ArcJet security gate before the he turned around.

“Cait”, he said seriously, “well… that could have gone smoother, but mission accomplished. Before we go any further, there are a few orders of business that need addressing.” He shifted the Junk Jet to his hip, and held out his hand. “First, I’ll take that transmitter.”

Cait stared at the unit in her hand. 

If she handed over the transmitter, as sure as hell the Brotherhood would come to the Commonwealth, probably in force, to chase down that radio signal that Christine was so sure had something to do with the Institute. 

Would they work with the Minutemen to destroy the Institute, or see them as an enemy and wipe out everything they’ had built here? Would they bring the vertibird and power armor Chris was so all-fired determined to have? How did the General think she was going to get her hands on them? Was she planning to go to war with them? Or did she think they would be willing to trade vertibirds and power armor for information on the Institute, and the assistance of the Minutemen in the battle to destroy it? How many caps did her friend have squirreled away? Whatever a squirrel was anyway. Damn it, Chris.

She snorted. It was more likely, if what she had heard of this new Elder was true, he’d kill them all trying to squeeze out every bit of information they had. 

Christine didn’t know the Brotherhood. She had no idea what she would be dealing with if they came here. Back in the Capital Wasteland, they had been a force for good, slaying mutant creatures, and helping the survivors get back on their feet. Then the old Elder had died, and a new guy took over. Their new leader was a zealous, cold-blooded man who had no use for people, no desire to help them. Just an all-consuming desire to hoard technology, through any means, even if he had to kill them all to get it. He wanted to keep the people ignorant, and himself in charge.

“Cait.” Danse prompted.

She could run. She could take the transmitter and disappear, from the Brotherhood, and the Minutemen both. Maybe she’d head north. Deacon had told them rumors of a colony of free synths there. Maybe she could hide with them until she could make more solid plans. She was confident that she could take care of herself out there, especially with the training she had received with the Minutemen. She would be just fine.

“Cait?”

And what about Deacon and the Railroad? They’d become targets too, freeing synths and giving them memories of a real life, so they could be undetectable in the world of pure humans. The Brotherhood would see them as a threat, and make it a priority to wipe out the entire organization…

She took a step back.

“Cait.” Danse reached out, not to the transmitter, but to her arm. “Are you alright? Did you get hurt back there?”

She looked into his soft, concerned brown eyes, and struggled to keep her questions relevant. Danse was a good man. He was sweet. A gentleman. She remembered his anger at finding Dane had accosted her in the shower, his politeness handing her the blanket to cover herself. His protectiveness, sitting on the couch between her and anyone else who might feel it necessary to interrupt her. He was a good leader. He cared deeply for his team, that was obvious, and they returned his regard with great respect.

If the Brotherhood was even half the man Danse was, everything would resolve itself the way Christine obviously thought it would.

Christine. She often said that Cait ‘hid an extremely intelligent mind behind that raucous attitude’. Christine relied on her judgement. And she had handed Cait the transmitter, not as the General commanding her to give it to Danse, but as Christine, her friend asking for Cait's assessment of the huge decision she had just made. 

But Cait knew she had already made her own decision. The moment she had chosen to ‘find’ the transmitter had been the point of no return, for her, for the Minutemen, and for the Commonwealth. She had chosen to back her friend’s play. She had chosen to close her eyes and step into the unknown, and believe in the trust Christine had in her.

Trust was hard. 

And she hoped like Hell Christine had a plan up her unpredictable sleeve.

She placed the deep range transmitter firmly into Danse’s hands. “There ye go, big man. Yer Brotherhood better be more like ye than Rhys, or I’m goin te be takin that back.” He smiled.

“Now, the second. Cait, we had a lot thrown at us back there, but you didn’t back down. You took it like a soldier. Wait a minute”, he said as a deep scowl instantly wiped the smile from her face, “I mean that in the best way possible. Cait, you have outstanding courage and skills. You could keep on fighting for a rag-tag group of settlers and misfits, or you could join the Brotherhood and make your mark on the world-“

She stopped him there. “No Danse. Don’t even be tryin. Bein bossed ‘round is not fer me. Ye may not think much o’ th Minutemen, but ye don’t know much ‘bout us either. We been workin damn hard te make our way, an it’s workin. I like havin friends, I like havin compellin things te wake up te every mornin, an I like how that all feels. I’m not joinin yer Brotherhood. But if ye want te be a Minuteman…”

“Okay, okay, I get it. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” He paused. “I won’t stop hoping that you do.” 

Cait felt the longing in his gaze. She reached out her hand toward him. “Danse… “

His eyes were full of warm curiosity, and delight. “Cait?”

The setting sun burnished her hair, creating a halo of fire around her elfin face. Her bright green eyes glowed. Danse had never, ever in his whole life seen anyone so beautiful, so fierce, so… captivating. 

She wore her battle-scarred power armor over that lithe, strong body like a second skin. He remembered her dancing in it at the police station. Her armored body moving quietly, stealthily through the ruins of ArcJet, and handling the tiny trigger on the Junk Jet with her huge metal gauntlets with ease, even more comfortably than he himself had. She was remarkable. Fascinating.

Cait's hand landed on the Junk Jet. “I’ll be wantin that back now, big man.”

Danse’s mind slammed to a stop. He all but yanked it out of her reach. “Hey! No! This is mine.” He took a step back. “You set it down.”

Cait raised a surprised brow. “Yer kiddin me, right?”

“Well, no. I’m not, Cait.” He held it against his chest protectively. “I’ll even give you my favorite laser rifle in trade. Fair deal.”

She snorted. “Give it back, or I will take it back, Paladin Danse. And before ye go givin me that look, ask yerself if yer willin te shoot me.”

“Shoot you? Why would I shoot you?”

“Because when I take my Junk Jet back, I’ll be tellin everyone how I kicked yer arse, an shootin me is th only way yer goin te stop me.”

Wrestle her down in their power armor? WOW! He winced at the almost unbearable tightness in his pants. Even the remote possibility of her winning fled his mind.

Cait exploded into laughter. “If ye could see yer face right now!”. One hand braced on her knee, the other pounded on his armored chest every time she dragged in a breath, as she bent over, weak from her uproarious guffaws. 

He tried to pull his scattered mind back into some semblance of military order. “CAIT! You need to-“

She stood, still chuckling. “Okay, big man. Ye can keep it. But here’s th trade i'll take- ye come with me te Sunshine Tidings fer the last of th party-”

“WHAT?! We don’t have time-“

“- because I promised te sing. And yer goin te help me.”

She took one look at his face and burst into laughter again.

“Ye should see yer face now!”

 

“Ooooooooo, I fell love, I feel love, I feel love, I feel love, I feel loooooooove,

Ooooooooo, I fell love, I feel love, I feel love, I feel love, I feel loooooooove,

I feeeel lo- o-, o, ove, I feeeel lo- o-, o, ove,…

 

Danse was starting to sweat trying to keep up with the proper rhythm of pounding on the table for her song. The people around him seemed to be having no problem, alternately singing along, then listening to her voice alone as they drummed, but he was about to concede defeat.

No! To hell he was! The Brotherhood never gave up, especially to as simple a task as beating on a table. He kept on with renewed energy.

I feeeel lo- o-, o, ove, I feeeel lo- o-, o, ove! 

The entire audience stood up clapping and laughing as the song ended. People he didn’t even know slapped him on the back, congratulating him on being able to keep up the very first time. He thanked them, ignoring his stinging hands.

Cait bounced up and jumped on his back in a piggyback hug. Whatever piggies were. If they gave each other hugs like this, he liked them.

“Well done! I knew ye could do it!” She kissed his sweaty neck and slid to the ground, coming around to hug him from the front. “Aren’t ye glad ye came? Bet yer stuffy old Steel doesn’t have fun like us!”

Danse blushed, and carefully hugged her back. “Okay, I admit that was fun, but it would cause unacceptable familiarity in our ranks. The Brotherhood doesn’t allow-“

Cait snorted, cutting him off. “Another reason fer ye te think about joinin the Minutemen!” The crowd around them yelled in agreement. She waved them off. “Go sit, ye lot. S’about time te announce the winners of the Scavenger Hunt o’Death!” 

In good humor, Danse’s new friends wandered off to their unconventional seats. He grinned at the assortment of logs, buckets, straw pillows, wooden boxes, metal trunks, and other unmatched oddities the settlers made themselves comfortable on. The Brotherhood never had events like this, and no gathering of the troops had ever involved seats. They were divided into precise ranks of soldiers standing at attention, or parade rest until the ceremonies or announcements were completed, then filing off in perfect formation. No seating, no hugging, no laughing. No singing.

He rather liked this better.

Marko Bessary, Minuteman, and leader of Sunshine Tidings, stood up in front of the crowd, waiting for the merriment to die down. When the happy racket continued, his wife Elizabeth stood and yelled a very unmilitary, “SHUT UP YOU LOT! I WANT TO HEAR MY HUSBAND!” After many good-natured jibes and comments, the settlers quieted.

Before Marko could begin, a young boy, maybe five or six years old, ran up to him, yelling inarticulately and hitting the man as hard as he could with his little fists. Marko gently caught his hands, and murmured soothingly, his eyes searching the crowd until he came to Cait. She nodded and rose, then steered the thrashing child to the brahmin pen, where he alternately petted the placid animals gently, and hit her.

“What’s wrong with him?” Danse asked softly, coming up behind her.

The child screamed and began thrashing at Danse’s legs. The cattle eyed the disturbance anxiously.

Protecting his groin from the wildly flailing fists, he knelt and let the child pound on his broad chest instead of Cait’s soft one.

She watched him sadly. “Christine found him hidin in th bathroom of a little melon farm called Breakheart Banks. We got there too late te save th rest o’ his family from th supermutants who’d overrun th place. She brought him te Greentop, but they couldn’t handle him, so she brought him here. We thought if he was far enough away from th Banks he’d calm a bit, but he’s been like this th whole time. He seems te like animals, but still needs someone te smack at. Noisy things like th gatherin set him off.”

“He likes Cait.” 

Finn’s quiet voice from behind him startled Danse. “My Rosie hasn’t spoken since I took her from raiders a good three years ago now. But after only a few days with this young lady here,” he placed a fond hand on her shoulder, “she said her first and only word. She said, ‘Cait’.”

“She’s the little one who climbed up Cait’s armor in Oberland, right?”

“That’s the one.” Finn smiled and gestured behind himself. “The kids are all asleep in Sunshine’s school. Emily, the teacher there, and a couple of the grannies have a special program for all the kids during a gathering, so they’re not underfoot, and to give parents a chance to relax and enjoy themselves. We’ll head back to Oberland in the morning, but not before Rosie has a chance to see Cait, right?”

Cait smiled up at him and nodded.

Danse’s heart warmed, watching Cait stroke the young boy’s back. She spoke to him quietly, asking about the brahmin, if anyone had made Christine’s cookies yet, who his friends were in the school, if he liked his soft bed, did he have a good supper. It was a joy to see this side of her, so unlike the feisty hellion he had been dealing with. But he loved that about her too. 

“Does he have a name?”

“Riley. Cait named him and he seems to like it.” Finn reached for the boy’s hand. “Ready to go, Riley? Let’s go find Pip and Cheddy.” 

The boy looked at the proffered hand with wide eyes, and to everyone’s shock, slide his little arms around Danse, laying his cheek against Danse’s warm chest. 

Finn and Cait both stared at the stunned man, their mouths hanging open. 

Danse didn’t know what to do. His training with the Brotherhood had never included this! Was he Paladin…Dad now? Paladin Best Buddy? What the hell was he doing here anyway? He needed to get the transmitter to the police station.

“Uh…ummm…”

Cait nodded at him encouragingly.

“Uhhh Riley? Do you want me to take you to your fr-“

The small boy reached up and blocked Danse’s mouth with a none-too-gentle hand. Danse stopped talking.

The little hand settled on his bicep, his finger tracing the strong outline of Danse's muscles. Slowly, Riley began tapping. Tap tap… tap tap… tap tap… tap tap…

Cait tapped her own chest. Your heart,” she mouthed.

Danse nodded. He looked at the little boy contentedly tapping his arm. 

Now what? he mouthed back.

Cait smiled at his discomfiture. The huge military man had probably never interacted with a child in his entire life. He was in unknown territory, and was looking to her for help navigating, especially since he was holding an unexploded bomb in his arms. She had to struggle not to laugh. 

She made a rocking motion with her folded arms, and jerked her head over her shoulder, toward the school. He looked at her in panic.

She slowly stood, still holding her invisible child, and gestured for him to do the same.

“Uh, Riley… I’m going to umm…carry you. We’re going to see your friends now.” The child didn’t respond.

Very carefully so as not to upset his small load, he rose and followed Cait and Finn to the schoolhouse. Finn patted Cait’s shoulder again, his smile full of pride and satisfaction, and headed back toward the fire.

It was dim and shadowy inside the schoolhouse. Lights were off, and the curtains closed against the noise of the merry-making outside. A granny at the door made a shhhh, unnecessarily Danse thought, and pointed him at an empty sleeping bag in the far corner, next to Rosie. He gingerly made his way between the sleeping children, trying not to step on any of the small bodies, or wake them. 

“Cait.”

A sweet voice said her name, tugging Cait’s heart. Rosie was still awake.

Reaching his goal with great relief, Danse tried to pry the small boy from his chest and lay him on his pallet. Riley made an unhappy noise and gripped more tightly. He tried again, and the noise repeated itself, only much louder. Danse looked at Cait in alarm.

She shrugged.

He sighed. Well, they’d get the transmitter to Haylen in the morning. Right now, Riley needed him. Danse sat, and settled his back against the wall comfortably, the little boy nestled on his lap. 

Riley relaxed his death grip. In moments, he was sound asleep, his cheek still against Danse’s heart, his little head snuggled under the big man’s chin.

Cait didn't know how long she gazed at the peaceful little huddle. Her heart had never felt like this. It was full, and warm, and felt like it filled her whole body, blocking her breathing, but in a beautiful, precious way. Tears blurred her vision, but she didn’t care. She didn’t need to see. She could feel her big man clearly.

She felt almost like a different person, as she looked down at Riley and Danse. Not Cait. Not the woman who had been beaten and abused from the moment she had been born til the day she had escaped from the Boss. Not the woman who had tried to erase entire chunks of that life with drugs, and had beat up people for a living. 

No. She had survived her life. She had beaten the drugs. 

She had met Danse.

This beautiful, sweet man. She loved him. There was no way to deny it, and there was nothing she could do about it, even if she had wanted to. This is what her soul had been yearning for her whole life. This is what life was supposed to feel like.

“Cait. Here.”

Cait startled at the little voice down by her ankles. She felt a small hand pat her boot. 

“Rosie? Whaaa… what did you just say”

“Cait. Here.” 

Cait was dumbstruck. Rosie had said her second word.

She struggled to calm her whirling mind as she carefully laid on her side on the floor, wedging herself between Danse’s leg, and the little girl’s body.

Rosie curled up, snuggling her back against Cait’s chest. 

“Cait. Here.” she mumbled sleepily.

Danse watched the gently movement of Cait’s back slow to an even rhythm as she fell asleep, her arm draped protectively over the little girl’s body. He looked down at the young boy, sleeping so trustingly against his chest. 

No, nothing in his training had ever prepared him for this.

But he liked it.

Danse stayed awake pondering the day, as he guarded their sleep. In the momentous world outside the door of the little schoolhouse, winners assembled to receive the accolades due them for their courageous efforts in the Scavenger Hunt of Death, and the Brotherhood stood poised to rid the Commonwealth of the Institute. But all of that felt unimportant, compared to watching the beautiful woman he loved sleep, and the small steps taken by two little children sleeping in a schoolhouse at Sunshine Tidings.

*

“Christine, you must come with me, to your bed. It would be a good thing, for you to be lying down as I make sure you are in good health. Rob has told me of your difficult day in the fire. Mrs. March, she will be fine, as will her baby and husband. You will all have pain in your heart that I cannot heal, but I can make sure you have not suffered any damage from the smoke or fire.” 

“No, I feel fine. I-“

Wednesday politely but firmly pushed the resisting woman toward the bed. “There, I think will be acceptable. Do you sleep down here too? You have too much darkness Christine-“

“No, it’s okay Wednesday. A little rest, and I’ll be as right as rain in the morning. Don’t worry about-“

“Christine, this rain is not right. It is full of the radiation that causes so much hurt to the people of these settlements. It will take only a few moments…”

Their conversation cut off as Christine’s bedroom door cycled shut. 

 

“Don’t hurt her.” 

Rob walked slowly around the room, his eyes probing every corner for his unknown adversary. “I mean it. I don’t care who you are, what you’re doing down here, or why she doesn’t talk about you, but if you hurt Christine, I will kill you myself. I will kill you. Do you understand? Do not hurt her. In any way.”

He stood and waited, his ears straining for any noise or movement that would confirm the presence of the mysterious stranger. 

As the minutes stretched on, Rob began to wonder if he and Deacon had been wrong. Maybe Christine just needed to be alone sometimes, and that was all there was to it. Maybe she just liked the cool quiet of the vault, and the man was a recent arrival that lived in a different settlement.

He could hear the lady’s voices, muffled by the door. Christine said “DOG!” in a loud voice, and Wednesday laughed.

Absently, he picked up a book and began flipping through the pages. 

“MacCready.”

Rob leaped to his feet, the book falling unnoticed to the floor. His eyes picked apart every shadow, every crack in the walls, spaces under tables and chairs, the cafeteria behind him. 

“Where are you? Who are you?”

“A friend.” The deep, rough voice made Rob uneasy, though he didn’t know why. His felt his hackles rise.

“What kind of friend? What are you to her? What do you want from her?”

The voice laughed without humor. “What kind of friend? One who cares about her a great deal more than you do. I would never, ever do anything to hurt her. Do YOU understand, MacCready? And it was her choice not to tell you about me. If you care about her as much as you say, you should respect her choice.”

Rob considered the unknown man’s words. “So why did you say anything to me? If you had stayed quiet, we would have left thinking our theory that she was with someone up here was wrong. That she just wanted to be alone. Maybe she just didn’t want anyone to know she smoked cigars, I don’t know.”

He picked the book up and set it on the chair. “So what’s your name? Are you from one of the settlements? Why didn’t she ever tell us about you?”

Again, the man’s voice unsettled him. “So many questions, MacCready.”

Rob waited for the man to continue, but the voice was silent. 

“Hey, answer me. Be a man and tell me-“

A deep sigh. “She calls me Cain. And one day, probably very soon because she’s so damn driven, I’ll have to leave. She’ll need to know she has someone she can talk to like she did to me, when I’m gone. I’m her safe place, MacCready. I'm the one she can go to when she can’t risk scaring the settlers with her insecurities. When she needs to cry. When she needs relief. When she needs peace. She comes to me, MacCready. She has me always.”

“You sound like you’re in love with her.”

Silence.

“Cain?” Rob began uncertainly. “Does she know?”

“Goodbye, MacCready. Remember what I said. Take care of her.”

And the voice was gone.


	34. Anger is just Disappointed Hope- unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new friend, a goodbye, a challenge, a choice
> 
> Brace for smut

Chapter 34

Christine squeezed her eyes against the bright sunlight as the vault platform rumbled to a stop. She smiled nostalgically, remembering the terrified woman who had exited the vault years ago, blinded by the sunlight, scared of radroaches, and had smacked the heck out of Cato with a baseball bat. It felt like a hundred years ago.

Codsworth. She tasted the name, remembering the funny, polite robot who made her tea, showed her which end of a gun the bullet came out of, and helped her find Dog. He was still pretty much the same robot as he was then, only now he had few new skill sets in his repertoire, and a new name. Cato. Cato would always be one of her dearest friends.

She wondered how he was doing, teaching his Wasteland 101 class to the inhabitants of Vault 81. Six new settlers had asked to join the vault class, hoping he could fill them in on anything they had missed in their long sojourn to Hangman’s Alley. Never one to turn down anyone who wanted to learn, Christine had promptly handed them to Cato, who in turn had tested them, then immediately asked Christine who would be teaching the advanced class. She still hadn’t figured that one out. 

She squinted at Wednesday. “So when am I going to meet my giftAAAACK!!!!”

Christine skidded flat onto her back on the platform, two large dogs joyfully stomping and slobbering over every cringing inch they could get at. They woofed at each other happily, barked at her, and gamboled freely over her prone body, stopping every few seconds to slap an affectionate tongue across her face, or gallop across her stomach. She curled up into a ball, trying to protect herself from their exuberant greeting.

“Egad Wednesday! She’s not a OOOOFdog, she’s a moose! OOOCH! GUYS!”

“I do not know what a moose is, Mademoiselle Christine, but if this is what Sammi is, I apologize. I was told she was a dog!”

“No no, she’s not a real GET OFF YOU IDIOTS moose, she’s just AAAK PTHOOO big BLECK like one. Bloody hell! What is she? UMPF A Great Dane? 

Sensing the weight, the platform began to lower, its steel rim grating harshly against the cement walls.

Rob ran for the controls. “I’m sorry Chris! Hang on! I didn’t get a chance to turn it off after we came up yet! I’ll get it!”  
“When you are getting to the bottom, you must come up again, Christine. I am your doctor, and I have prescribed a large amount of sunshine. You will not get it down there. You must come up.” Wednesday put her hands on her hips, and turned to Rob. “You must get her up here immediately, or there will be no smelly socks tonight.”

“Really, Wednesday? Already?” He slammed his fist on the platform control button. “There. She’ll be up in a minute. You can still leave your smelly socks.”

She smiled happily at him.

He stopped. “Hey wait a minute. Did you say this was Sammi? Duncan’s Sammi? This dog is Duncan’s dog, Sammi?”

“Yes, Rob. The moose dog was indeed the friend of your son.” She peered down into the gaping darkness of the vault elevator, straining for a glimpse of Christine and the dogs. “Lucy’s brother Ken said that with Duncan being so sick, and having two small children of their own to care for, aside from feeding her, Sammi was ignored. This is very sad, yes? There was no one to play with her or take her for walks, or thank her for the things she brings. She did not even lift her head when I joined the household and began the care of Duncan. Then one afternoon, I reached behind me for my blue medical bag, and her head became under my hand. I looked, and she had my bag in her mouth. She was giving it to me. Rob? Are you okay? Do you have a pain you wish me to see to? Maybe you wish to catch a small bug?”

Rob shut his mouth quickly. “Ugh. No. So Sammi handed it to you, like Dog gives things to Christine?”

“Yes, she did. She understands too, what I am asking for. If I say, ‘Sammi, I need my boots”, she brings my boots right to me. If I ask her for a blanket, she will drag one over. Oh”, she caught herself. “I do not think she understands which blanket is mine, because she brought me little Belinda’s. I brought it right back to the poor little girl, and pointed out my blanket to Sammi. She brought it to my bed. She also likes to carry my bag. The children laugh to see her follow me with the bag in her mouth. I think she finds the attention very agreeable. She likes them very much, but when it came time to leave, Sammi picked up my bag and followed me to Jolly’s caravan. Ken said it would be good for me to take her with me, so here she is.” 

Rob walked carefully down the ramp from the control booth, as if his gentle tread wouldn’t wake the bad news he dreaded to hear. 

“Wednesday, you haven’t said anything about Duncan’s health since you arrived, and it’s killing me, not knowing. Is he-“

“Yes! Oh my goodness, yes!” She clapped her hands. “He responded to the cure quickly! The blue boils were dry within an hour. His fever released, and by the time I was leaving, he was eating with his own spoon and fork. It was a pleasure to see! I am certain his recovery is well in hand. I am sad because there was no sample to study of the cure, but it is wonderful that Duncan can be a little boy again. I was allowed to take samples of his blood, both before being given the cure, and again before I left, when he was feeling more robust. I must be very careful with them. I should return to my facilities in Vault 81 to do my research. Will you come with me? I would not like to be apart for so long again. I missed you very much, Rob.”

A huge smile broke across Rob’s face. She wanted him to stay with her. 

Heedless of his great clomping steps, now that the truth of the news had been released, he loped the rest of the way down the ramp, and caught Wednesday up in his arms again. 

“Yes! I would love to stay with you at the Vault!” He planted a big noisy kiss on her cheek.

She returned his exuberant affection exactly as he had given it to her, and turned back to watch the platform slowly rise. 

It was empty.

*

“DOG! GET BACK HERE! Oh what the hell was her name…. SAMMI! SAMMI YOU COME HERE RIGHT THIS MINUTE!” Christine crawled off the platform and struggled to her feet. “CONSIDER THIS DAY ONE OF YOUR TRAINING! COME HERE!

Behind her, the gate closed and the platform began to rise.

“Nononononono!! Oh Hells Bells! Now Wednesday is going to be after me. Good grief, what a day.” She ran down the hall, following the sounds of the dog’s nails clicking on the cracked floors, and their excited, noisy play. 

She found them scratching and whining at a wall panel. Dog woofed proudly, then sat and cocked his head at her, pleased with his skill of locating things she needed. What she needed with a wall panel, Christine didn’t know, but she rumpled his fur and praised him anyway. Not one to be left out, Sammi pushed under her hand to be petted too. The two barked at each other, good-naturedly vying for her affection, then barreled down the hall toward the platform. Christine snorted at their antics, and followed.

And stopped short and backed up. 

Was that…?

She ran her hand down the seam in the wall, and stopped at a rough imperfection. She leaned in more closely, feeling the gouge, and the worn area bordering it. Her mind almost crackled as bits and pieces began to fall into place. Could it be that the dogs had led her to…?

It had to be. 

Biting her lip, Christine rapped on the wall with her knuckles. “Cain? Are you home?”

No answer.

“Awww come on! Let me in!”

“No, Christine.”

“HA! I knew it!” She felt around the worn spot, digging her fingers into the crease. When that didn’t work, she gave it a sharp shove. 

The door popped open.

The room was dark. Cain was motionless, but Christine could hear his deep, ragged breathing far to her left. 

Christine took a step and froze. It felt wrong to go in, to be in his personal space. The smell of cigars, clean clothes, gun grease, and his sexy, male smell, it was too intimate. Too much completely his, and not a place she should be without an invitation. Like she was violating a friend zone rule. But was he really in the friend zone still? He had let her kiss his neck. He had held her naked body against his and kissed her fingers, though he kind of panicked after, like he didn’t know what he was doing and had scared himself. 

She shifted her hips against the warm swelling of her arousal. She wanted more. She wanted to kiss his lips, feel his breath against her cheek. Feel more than just his bare chest. It didn’t matter to her that she had never seen him. His looks were not what she had fallen in love with. 

UH UH UH UHNO! NO! NO! 

She stumbled a step back, then another, then another. She turned and ran blindly back down the hall to the platform controls. She banged the button with her fist, then ran to the security fence. It wasn’t rising fast enough! She hooked her fingers under it and strained to lift. Failing, she rolled under it. She jumped to her feet and stomped on the pad.

Dog and Sammi came running to the platform. Delighted by Christine’s energy, they ran around her, jumping and barking. The platform began to rise.

Christine collapsed to her knees, her tears falling freely onto her fists as she pounded them against the cold steel. She shoved the dogs away.

What the hell was she doing?! What the hell was she doing?! Love was the sneakiest trap of all! Love kept you here! She was making the best of a very bad nightmare, remember? Love isn’t real in a nightmare. This wasn’t real at all. This wasn’t happening. None of this was really happening! WAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUP!

In a panic, Christine slammed her fists harder on the platform as it slowly rose. NO! I can’t go up! It’s up there! The nightmare is up there! NO! GOD NO! I can’t go down! He’s there! The man who makes this all real! I can’t…! I don’t…! I… I…

Christine dove into the confusing, whirling darkness battering at her brain. She needed someplace to hide. She needed to hide.

Her body crumpled to the floor, a strangling husk, an anchor to a world she didn’t want, and a man that she did. 

*

The room was dim and quiet.

Her eyes followed the indistinct glow to its source, a single candle, its flame still in the stagnant air of the room. Slowly, she flexed her hands, opening, then squeezing them closed in a feeble attempt to convince her eyes to do the same, but it didn’t work. Her eyes stayed open. Christine’s mind staggered into gear, trying to make sense of the shadowy space around her. It wasn’t home. It felt odd. It didn’t smell like the Hawaiian Sunset air freshener her mother loved. Anna wasn’t griping at her paperwork. I didn’t feel like her room in the dorm. It didn’t feel like her room down in the… in the…

No. It was her house in Sanctuary. She felt the bunchy mattress beneath her, and the gentle weight of the blanket Finn’s children had made for her. The fire was going outside. She could smell the smoke. Marcy called her husband to dinner. Captain Beckett dismissed his crew. Voices mumbled indistinctly in the evening air.

“There you are. I was wondering when you would come back to us. Your mind was very far away. It pulled and pulled at your body, but it wouldn’t go. It took a long time for your heart to come back too, poor thing, all torn up. But you’re all together now. Your friends will be very happy. They were worried about you.”

Mama Murphy patted Christine’s hand, her strange, childish voice rambling on.

“I know your pain, Christine. I know all of them, and you have a lot. And I know your promise too, kid.”

Her promise? Which one?

Oh my god! Her promise! Dear god, she was a lousy person. She hadn’t thought about her promise to the dead woman Nora since the day she had come out of the vault. It had slipped to the far back of her mind, her more immediate concern being how to survive in the Commonwealth. Then it was fighting raiders and supermutants, and helping to build safe settlements, then getting the Castle back and the radio up and now these fires…

“You’re better now, Christine. You can think about it now. You can’t help the people around you any more, until you find the answer to your promise.”

“What-“, Christine coughed, and cleared the sleep from her throat. “What about the fires? Children died, Mama Murphy! Where do I even start? And the vault. –“ She swallowed, pushing down the fear rising to choke her. “A lady I don’t know, a man I don’t know, a child I don’t know, a killer I don’t know, people in white suits I don’t know… wait. People in white protective suits?”

She sucked in her breath. “People in white protective suits who steal a baby, a frozen, perfectly preserved, pre-war baby…”

“There you go, kid. I knew you’d come back to us.”

“Mama Murphy, where do I go to even start looking for the Institute? Is the library still- no, Daisy said supermutants had taken it over. I’ve been all over the C.I.T ruins… I wonder if Rufus has a book about the old C.I.T. is his stash somewhere…”

“There’s only one place you’ll find your answers. The great green jewel. Diamond City. You have friends there waiting for you. You need to go meet them. The fires will wait. Those kids need you. They all need you.”

“People I don’t know yet are waiting for me? What kids? What people? Mama Murphy-“

The old woman rubbed her head. “I’m sorry, kid. I can’t see anything else without some more jet.”

“Hey, hey, hey wait a minute. How did you get some jet? Who gave you jet? You promised me you’d stop, Mama Murphy. I trusted you to keep your word.”

“I know, kid, but it was important that you get back on track-“

“What track? Who’s track?”

“Deacon said-“

“DEACON?! DEACON GAVE YOU JET?!?!?! DEACON! DEACON GET IN HERE! SOMEBODY GET THAT MAN! WE ARE GOING TO HAVE WORDS! DEACON, GOD DAMN IT! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!”

Mama Murphy patted Christine’s leg as the General swung out of the bed and headed for the door. “There you go, kid. That’s our girl. Don’t leave us again. We need you too, kid. If we lose you, we lose everything.”

Christine stopped short. “Lose everything? What everything? What everything, Mama Murphy?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t see it anymore. Maybe if you brought me some more jet.”

Christine teetered, biting her lip in consternation. She had to know more. 

No. Wednesday had said the jet was killing Mama Murphy. Dear god, what the old woman had said sounded pretty damn important… maybe just one more would-

No. It was not in Christine to sacrifice a life for clues and hints, however dire the need seemed to be. There was always another way. Diamond City. Mama Murphy said that Christine had friends waiting for her in Diamond City. She would get her clues and hints from them. 

“No, you dear old devil. No more jet. I’ll figure this out.” Christine hugged the old woman tightly. “You take care of yourself. Go get your head clear, then go back to helping Wednesday make the drugs she needs for her clinic. If I can’t trust you to behave, you’ll end up at Sunshine Tidings, distilling essences from flowers. Understand me?”

Mama Murphy laughed. “You got my promise, kid. Go get’em.”

*

“So you’re still not talking to me? You know, sooner or later, you’re going to need old Deacon, and I’ll be here, because that’s the kind of guy I am. Well, I might be here. Or kinda close by. Within earshot. You can call me. Or you can call Dog. Or Dog can call me. What were we talking about?”

Christine seared him with a glance, and continued her determined journey to Diamond City, not saying a word.

Honestly, she didn’t want to talk to anyone, not just Deacon. Mama Murphy had spilled so much vague information on what sounded like pretty crucial…

And her head was so full of home, and Cain, and confusion, and the unreality of her life, or was it real? 

I’ve been making this work. I can keep making this work until I wake up. God, why can’t I wake up?

I kill people and it doesn’t bother me. What kind of sick psycho does that? It can’t be real. I kill monsters in my nightmares, but they still keep coming. Everywhere I look, there are more monsters. This isn’t real. It has to be a nightmare. Giant glowing green bugs? Robot humans? Zombies? And look at these completely unrealistic guns! 

“Hey, slow down! I can’t run that fast!” Deacon puffed along beside her in his greaser jacket and penny loafers, waving his arms. “Commonwealth to Christine! Hey! Wake up!”

When had she started running? Did she think she was going to outrun her nightmare? Christine slowly jogged to a stop, struggling to calm her mind. “What did you say?”

He huffed and heaved, walking in a stiff circle with his hands on his hips. He held up one finger. “Before you started running? Or after?” He bent over, hands on his knees. “Wow am I out of shape…”

“Just now, damn it. Just now you said ‘Wake up’”. 

“Did I? Well, if it made you angry, it must have been someone else, because I know better than to make you angry.”

Christine kept glaring at him, peeling his head open, searching for something. It was unnerving, even to him.

“Umm Boss? Why are you staring at me like that? Are you going to kill me? Because I’d rather you didn’t. I’ve got three wives and fifteen little mouths to feed. They’ll be destitute without me. Not to mention all of the orphans and kitties, and puppies… Not like your puppy, what’s her name, Sammi? What is she anyway? Part brahmin?”

“Hit me, Deacon. Hit me really, really hard.”

He recoiled, holding his hands in front of himself as if to keep her back. “What?! You’ll hit me back! Remember the kittens and puppies, Chris. Think some of your nice happy thoughts about kittens and puppies.”

“Deacon, if you don’t hit me, I WILL hit you. And if you still won’t, I’ll wipe the butt of my gun against your jaw so hard, your wives and children and puppies and kittens will start circling your brain like stars.” She rubbed her head in frustration. “Please.”

Deacon studied his friend closely.

She was tense, tightly wound, but exhausted inside, ready to either scream and kill someone, or just lay down and die. He couldn’t tell which was winning. Hard brown eyes like ice stared back at him from a face devoid of emotion, neutral as a stone. He knew he couldn’t hit her. He also knew he didn’t want a Christine-powered buttstroke kiss good night. What was wrong with her? She took hits all the time. Why did she want him to hit her now? 

He had never seen her like this, and he’d been watching her for a damn long time. Explode or die. That’s exactly what would happen to her if he didn’t figure out what she needed, and fast.

What she needed. What she needed was to relax. A distraction.

“Chris, in your previous life, back when you had a piano, and guitar, and classes to pour your frustrations into, did you ever go to a place called Nuka World?”

“No. Never heard of it.”

“Well, it was a place with rides, and games, and eats, all themed with Nuka Cola. A stupid radio station suddenly came to life a couple of months ago, singing all the little jingles and commercials for it, and it’s been driving me mad. I wanted to check it out. Want to come with me?”

A spark of curiosity flashed across her eyes. “What about Diamond City, and the world that’ll go to hell in a hand grenade if I don’t save it?”

“Honestly, I’m pretty sure the world will wait til tomorrow. Come on, Christine.”

She was staring again. Not exactly excited, but not shooting him either.

Encouraged, he pressed further. “I was hoping it meant a settlement with a radio station like Minuteman Radio, was coming to life. Friends, Chris. People trying to rebuild, just like us. What do you think?” He danced closer and linked his arm with hers. “Maybe some of the rides are working. Won’t that be fun?”

“I think that would be lovely. Idiotic. Naive. It’s more likely to be raiders or something, hoping to lure suckers in. Maybe a gunner trap. When did you become such an optimist, Deacon?”

“Well when did you become such a pessimist? Come on. Put Diamond City on the back burner for a minute, and let’s go have some fun.”

“An amusement park in my irradiated hell nightmare. Could this possibly get any more surreal?”

Deacon frowned as the bleak, dangerous look returned to her face. “Nightmare. That’s why you wanted me to hit you? To wake you up? You think all of this is a nightmare?”

“Shut up, Deacon. Just point me at the fucking happy fucking amusement fucking park.”

He swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”

*

She kicked a dead body, flipping it onto its back. “Gunner”, she spat. “I thought we got them all. The bastards spawn like bloatflies.”

Deacon looked at the number of dead bodies scattered across the entire courtyard of the Nuka World rail station. More hung over the edges of the parking structure, and out the open doors of the ancient, rusting busses. Twenty-six dead gunners. And he had only killed four of them. What the hell was wrong with Christine that she needed a bloodbath of this magnitude to ease her tension?

Christine strode toward the rail station entrance, kicking dead bodies out of her way. She yanked open the door and disappeared.

Still mad. The fight hadn’t helped her at all. She was still full to the brim with anger or whatever it was that was driving her. 

Deacon didn’t know what to do. Her other friends believed she was just working off extra energy, but he knew better. The truth was, her fights like these echoed some sort of damage, some pain inside. She wasn’t fighting gunners or raiders or mutants. She was fighting herself. Right now, He would give a huge pile of caps to know what was scraping her raw inside.

Her head popped back out from behind the door. “Deacon! You coming?”

He looked at the sheer number of dead bodies surrounding him, then back at her impatient face. He sure hoped he was up to the task.

“Sure am, Boss. Right behind you.”

*

“Deacon. Leave.”

“Sure I’ll leave… when hell freezes over. Or when I freeze over. Or if I get too hot. Or if my tea is too hot. Or if Dog drinks my tea. What was the question?”

“DON’T LEAVE! PLEASE! DON’T LET HER SHOOT ME! I GOTTA DO THIS! IT’S MY JOB! THEY”LL KILL ME IF I DON’T!”

The man looking up the barrel of Christine’s combat shotgun groveled with the best of them, Deacon thought.

Christine was not feeling merciful. “Bad day for you then.”

Another bad sign. Deacon didn’t know what to do.

“Your choices are death or death”, she said coldly. “I’ll make it a clean one, if you can tell me some truth, Harvey. Your raiders may not be so kind. What are you going to do?”

The ragged man lying on the cracked tile floor of the transit station hid his face in his hands, cowering before her. “Please”, he begged weakly. Deacon noticed the man hadn’t put down his pipe pistol yet.

“Deacon. Leave.”

“NO! Listen-“ Grovel, grovel. If Deacon wasn’t so impressed with this ‘Harvey’s’ performance, he’d be nauseated.

“You tried to lure us into some stupid raider death game, Harvey. Has anyone ever survived this ‘Gauntlet’?”

“Well no, but-“

“Deacon. Leave. Now.”

An icepick into his forehead would have been less painful than the look Christine stabbed him with. For a moment, he saw her pain, the torn, flayed soul struggling to find answers, to find peace. Then the window slammed shut. The wintery, dead look returned. 

She meant it. She was sending him away to save his life. This was not some crusade he could back her up on. She was going to take on this Gauntlet, and the raiders behind it. She wanted to die on her own terms, fighting her pain head on.

He knew he couldn’t stop her, and he sure as hell couldn’t save her alone. He needed help. MacCready, Cait, the best Minutemen. He had to go get them. Mama Murphy said they would lose everything if they lost Christine. He couldn’t let her kill herself, not matter how much pain she was in. 

Without another word, Deacon turned and left.

As he stepped out into the sunshine, and the door slowly swung shut behind him, he heard a single gunshot.

*

“You’re one ruthless son-of-a-bitch, aren’t you?”

Christine spun, flipping her shotgun back over her shoulder, and yanking her gauss rifle directly into play. Her eyes searched the shadows even as her hands were checking the ammo load in her gun.

He sounded impatient. “The name’s Gage, Porter Gage. And the truth is that guy Harvey you offed was just a set up to draw you into our little death trap.”

So he was talking over the speakers. And he could see her. Christine waited silently, waiting for him to tell her something she didn’t already know. 

‘What? Nothing to say?” 

No answer.

“Fine. Look, I only got a minute so you better listen and listen good. Old Harv’s got a password on him. Take it, and use it to unlock the control terminal and power up the Nuka-Express. The monorail will take you to Nuka World. If caps and killing are your thing, I got the offer of a lifetime for you.”

Nothing.

“But only if you think you can handle it. If you somehow make it through The Gauntlet alive, I’ll give you details on the other side. In the meantime, have fun and put on a good show. I’ll be watching.” And the voice was gone.

A smile slowly curled across her face, as she leaned down and riffled through Harvey’s clothes. 

Deacon had been right. This was exactly what she needed.

*

A roomful of turrets? Your death trap begins with a room full of turrets? Stupid raiders.

Christine squatted down behind a wall, and picked the noisy machines off one at a time. She couldn’t get the angle on the one that was still chugging behind a broken café bench so she lit a scrap of wood and tossed it toward the noise. As it turned to zero on the movement, Christine strode past, almost lazily firing a single hip fire directly into its sensor. It exploded behind her.

An announcer’s voice, different from the man who had spoken to her in the transit station, blared from the loudspeakers. “ATTENTION ALL MY FAVORITE UNDESIRABLES OUT THERE. IN CASE YOU HADN’T NOTICED, LOOKS LIKE WE GOT OURSELVES SOME FRESH MEAT TO RUN THE GAUNTLET!”

Christine scowled. Goddamn that idiot’s loud. 

A door. Wonder what kind of trap is on the other side? Christine carefully picked the lock. She snatched the door open, tossed in a grenade, and slammed it shut. The explosion rattled the door. 

Her deathclaw grin widened. That was a pretty sincere explosion. The kind that killed ‘fresh meat’. The raiders were stepping up their game. Good.

She walked through the door and scanned the space. Ahhhh, flamethrower trap exploded. Took out a bunch of tripwires. What are they rigged to? Oh. Overhead gun braces. 

She could see a wide assortment of shotguns and pipe rifles, nothing better than what she was already holding. Standing in the doorway, Christine blasted each gun brace, and its accompanying worthless gun into shrapnel, then just to be safe, she disarmed the remaining tripwires. 

A metal door clanged open. 

“THIS IS REDEYE, YOUR ANNOUNCER FOR TONIGHT'S GAMES. HELL, YEAH! LOOKS LIKE OUR VIC’S GOT SOME UNEXPECTED PLAYMATES!”

Christine had just enough time to register three very fast, furred, sharp toothed vermin before they were on her. She dove onto the first, stabbing her knife through its spinal column, slammed the second against the wall and smashing its skull, and disemboweled the third mid-air as it leaped at her. Squealing pathetically, it crawled only a few feet, before her knife found a home embedded between the shoulder blades.

Gunshot bit into her leg. Christine threw her back to the wall, her eyes scanning for the shooter. 

Well, shit. Missed a tripwire. The gun brace exploded from the wall, and she slung her rifle back over her shoulder. Stabbing in a stimpak, she moved on.

Grenade bouquet. Thanks for the grenades, guys.

Pistol trap. Hmmmm. Maybe I can use this. Always had a soft spot for pistols. She holstered it in a thigh pocket.

“LET’S GET A MOVE ON! DOESN’T MATTER WHAT YOU DO. THE GAUNTLET GETS THEM ALL IN THE END!”

Fucking announcer. 

Christine continued to power through a wide range of traps, some ridiculous, some intriguing. A set of three doors were beaten by a simple Eeeny-Meeny-Miney-Moe, releasing her into access tunnels. Radiated barrels with a key to the next door. 

Really? She popped a Rad-X and kept moving.

Next room found her facing shelves of turrets, three rows, on either side. There was no place to hide to get past them. 

But the turrets were pointed across at each other. 

Christine cracked up. What was that joke Christian had told her about a Polish firing squad that stood in a circle? She tossed another burning brand at the center turret on the left side, and stood back. 

BADADADA-BLAM-KABOOM KABOOM BLAM- The turret, and turret across shot at the moving piece of wood, taking out three on the one side, and two on the other, which exploded, causing a chain of explosions which wiped out the entire rack. She smirked at the smoking metal debris, and loosed a shotgun blast on a trick monkey toy as she strode past, just because those things irritated her.

More floor traps and turrets. An animatronic alien swung toward her, firing a plasma blast that narrowly missed her head. She snarled, and tackled this textbook element of a nightmare, breaking it from its base. The plasma pistol was interesting, so she pocketed it too. 

“JESUS, WHO’S TORTURING WHO? PICK UP THE PACE, VIC!”

Christine clamped her hands over her ears. Enough of this fucking announcer. She scanned the walls and ceiling until she located the speaker, and blasted it with her shotgun. She took out the video camera too.

The next door opened into rail tunnels. Sentinel Protectrons were loaded on a flatbed, with a few scattered on the ground. As she approached. One started whirring to life. Working quickly, she hacked in, and adjusted their protocols to self-destruct. She shot the speaker and camera on the way past, explosions thundering in the tunnel behind her.

Mines. Shoot them before they go off. Waste of good mines, when she could have just disarmed them, but she was still angry, and it felt fucking good. 

Guilt made her keep a couple. And she shot the speaker and camera.

Board bridge above mirelurks. Stupid. 

She ran across and picked the lock on the door blocking her escape. Before she went through, she tossed the grenades into the swamp below her, then exited to the sweet music of explosions, and mirelurk parts splashing back into the water.

“WHAT THE HELL? GODDAMN DERRICK! THAT DOOR’S SUPPOSED TO BE BOARDED UP!”

Christine grit her teeth and shot the speaker. Two cameras on this room. 

BANGBANG! Not anymore.

Christine stepped into an access substation. The door slammed shut behind her, locking instantly. The smell of gas pervaded the room, wavering in the air. Light-headed prickles of light spangled the edges of her vision.

Five radroaches scrabbled from the debris piled ankle deep in the room, attacking her weakening body.

Christine swung her shotgun up, then immediately dropped it to the floor, along with her gauss rifle. The sparks from the weapons firing would ignite the gas filling the room, and she’d go down with those radroaches in a flaming elevator to hell. Her combat knives made another appearance, caked with the blood of rad rats, but she wasn’t particularly concerned with radroaches suing for infection caused while under her care.

She snickered. If that was funny, there was definitely too much gas in her lungs. She picked up her guns.

“WHAT’S THAT? SOMEONE LOCK YOU IN? JUST TAKE A NICE, DEEP BREATH. IT’LL ALL BE OVER SOON.”

Christine sobered up instantly. Fucking announcer. But he was right. If she didn’t get that gas shut off in a hurry, she’d die, and if they lost her, they lost everything. She had to meet her friends in Diamond City. 

What everything, Mama Murphy? What friends? What about the fires? 

I’d like to die. Maybe if I died here, the nightmare would be over.

Cain could have his life, without her intrusions. He could be free. She could be free.

“SOMEONE THINKS SHE’S CLEVER… TIME FOR A LITTLE REALITY CHECK. LET’S SEE OF OUR VIC CAN KILL THE GAS BEFORE THE GAS KILLS HER.”

Fucking announcer.

She headed for a valve, then stopped. Too easy.

The terminal on the desk behind her proved to be password locked. That was encouraging. They wouldn’t lock her out if there wasn’t something important in there. Or would they? Wrestling the protection code would be enough time for the gas to kill her. 

No. They’re not that smart. Need the password. 

“WASTING TIME, VIC. JUST WASTING TIME...”

Fucking announcer.

Christine slid around the room, looking for the password holotape. Wavered. Wobbled. 

There. Was that it on that desk? She reached for it. Too far away. No, overshot it. Her hand groped across the desk until she felt it in her fingers. Falling to her knees, her vision darkening, she crawled to the terminal and fumbled the holotape into place.

The door popped open.

“AW, WHAT? CALL ME CRAZY, BUT I THINK OUR VIC’S GOT SOMETHING AGAINST FUN.”

Christine retched on the doorframe as she hauled herself through. She slammed the door behind her.

BZZZZT BZZZ BZZZZZZT!

Fucking Hell! Flying ants?!

Christine had had enough. This Gauntlet ends now. And that loud asshole of an announcer, who better be saying ‘vic’ and not ‘bitch’, was going to have his goddamn brain rearranged. 

She lit a Molotov and smashed it on the floor directly underneath the stinging swarm. Dozens of sparks that had previously been bugs, fizzled out, becoming just more dust caking the floor.

She slammed through the next door, and found herself being shot at from above. She declared Open Fucking Season on everything up there. Her gauss rifle blew great, gaping holes in the chain link roof, and exploded raiders into chunks, but it still didn’t make her feel any better. Goddamn it, Cain. Goddamn nightmare.

The door of the next room slammed behind her, almost shoving her as it hit her butt. She swung around and fired point blank at the knob. Christine was stunned to see no damage marring her target. Not even a scratch.

Hmpf. She mentally promised the little fucker she’d be back to continue this little conversation, then turned and scanned the room.

It was some sort of tunnel. One side was clear, thick Plexiglas. Through it she could see a raider helping a big, beefy beast of a man into some form of power armor. A long, metal rod extended from the power armor, sparking against the metal grid above. Piles of trash and smashed bumper cars completed the arena.

Bumper cars? This was Gage’s big play? Bumper cars? What the ever-loving fuck?

Nothing was ever as it seemed in nightmares, remember Christine? She studied the scene.

The big, armored man spoke. “You got me wired up yet, Gage?”

A-hah. There was her little helper.

“Yeah boss.”

“Finally. Now go shut off that damn alarm.”

“All right. I’m on it.” Gage walked off. 

Christine continued to assess her next enemy. Gage’s voice pulled her into the next room. 

It was a locker room. Miniguns, molotovs, armor, every gun or explosive on the planet was represented here, all adorned with blood, and bits of flesh and rags. On the wall was an intercom.

“All right, listen the hell up if you want to make it out of this alive. I’ve only got a minute.”

Christine ignored Gage’s rough voice, and continued her leisurely inventory of the supplies available to her.

“You got a death wish or something? Time’s wastin’ here.” He sounded irritated.

She went into the bathroom.

Gage snarled in frustration. What the hell was the matter with that woman? Sure she had skills, but… damn it. ““Hey- I know you’re still in there. We gonna do this or not?” 

The toilet flushed. He heard her moving around again. Metal banged against the door to the arena.

Finally she spoke. “Go away, Gage.”

“Hell no. Neither of us is getting out of this alive if you don’t listen to me. This fight coming up is rigged, you get me? Overboss Colter… his power armor’s set up to draw energy from the electric grid in the arena. Damn thing’s invincible. You name it, someone’s tried it- rocket launchers, grenades. Not a scratch. You get what I’m saying?”

“Oh good, electricity.” The woman sounded angry. Really, really angry. “So he’s a cheating coward. Tell me something I don’t know, Gage.”

“Lady, he doesn’t have a fair bone in his body. You need to-“

“Open the gate, Gage.”

“What?! No. Go into-“

“Now. Tell me about the fabulous prizes I’ve won later. Open the gate.”

“Lady, no. If you-“

“Gage open this fucking gate or I swear to God, as soon as I’m done with Colter, I’m coming after you. Open. The. God. Damn. Gate.”

“Fuck”, he muttered. The gate swung open.

 

Christine leaped through the door and scrambled up a pile of junk she had been marking. She kept the broken sheet of metal crowning the pile between her and the Overboss, as she assessed Colter skating around the ring.

He was firing with exceptional skill, she thought, despite his being tethered to the arena. Gotta watch that.

Ducking away from another blast, she swung down and snatched up the bucket of water she had left in front of the door. She threw it on the floor directly in front of him.

His armor snapped and sparked as the water shorted out its electrical system. 

Christine fired a series of over-charged shots from her gauss rifle, then ducked behind her second pile of junk, not waiting to see what damage she had made. She lunged around the side of the pile as Colter skated into view, and smashed two water-filled Molotov bottles against his chest. She fired again, as his suit sparked with interrupted electricity. She scooted around the pile again.

“Ah, pretty clever girlie, but not clever enough. My suit is too powerful for-“

Christine shot high, directly at the pole connecting him to the power grid. It snapped.

Over balanced by the sudden weight of the unsupported pole swinging on his back, he teetered, and fell. The impact as his chest hit the metal floor shook the arena.

Christine climbed up and sat comfortably on her pile of junk. Sighting her new little pistol on his power core, she fired.

Gage looked from his ex-boss rocking helplessly and screaming as the nuclear power core burned deeply into his back, to the woman watching him patiently. As soon as the Overboss’s screams slowed to agonized cursing, she turned the release valve, opening the armor to exhibit Colter’s blackened, bleeding back. Without a word, she pressed the muzzle of her shotgun to the back of his neck and fired. The power armor helmet, still filled with Colter’s head, skidded across the arena. It came to a stop against the door to the locker room.

His eyes looked up from the grisly trophy, to find the woman watching him. 

*

Gage had been a raider since he was twelve years old. He’d seen the crazed joy, the fractured pleasure in faces of raiders as they tortured and killed. He’d seen every expression a victim could possibly don, as they died, some horribly- mangled and abused, some barely touched. Children, old people, animals, raiders, in the end they all made the same faces.

Bleak, empty eyes watched him from an expressionless face. The woman had just killed the toughest, cruelest man in Nuka World, and she didn’t care. She had begun like any other victim. Now she was Queen of the Raiders, the new Overboss. Why didn’t she have any of the faces? Not a raider’s killing face, not a victim’s dying face. He didn’t understand.

“Open the gate, Gage.”

He startled. 

She fired at the chain link fence separating her from the spectators. “Go home.” She fired again. “Go home, say your prayers, and try to sleep. If you’re very, very lucky, your gods will save you from me. Enjoy my nightmare, you miserable fucks.”

Christine smiled at the thunderous uproar her statement had provoked.

Jesus! Now there was something on her face, and he didn’t like it. No one, raider or not, should have a smile like that. Gage began to seriously reconsider the value of his plans to save Nuka World.

“Gage.”

Fuck, she was staring at him. He had to do something.

“Hey, we talked about this!” he yelled at the incensed crowd. The roaring from the stands quieted to a dull thunder, at Gage’s words.

The woman fired at the fence again. 

Gage didn’t know what to do. He sure as hell didn’t want to provoke her, but riling up this crowd was the number one worst thing she could do. “Fucking hell, Boss! Give me a chance here!”

She pointed her gauss rifle at the bulletproof glass enclosing the booth surrounding him.

He raised his hands in surrender. “Boss. Please.” 

She gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Gage edged carefully into the Cola Cars arena, keeping a close eye on his new employer. He addressed the crowd. “She survived the Gauntlet. She was strong enough to kill Colter. She’s what we need. So how about we show some respect for our new leader, eh?”

A small, slight woman with a strange, batwing helmet stepped close to the fence. Her voice was cold, harsh. “You better know what you’re doing, Gage.” The crowd muttered in agreement as they left.

Alone in the arena, he carefully approached her. “So what’s your name?”

“Doesn’t matter, does it.”

“Look Lady, what’s your-“

“What do you want from me Gage? I made it through your stupid Gauntlet, I beat your Overboss. What now? Is it mine? Is Nuka World and everyone in it mine now? Can I burn it to the ground?”

“Jeez Boss, look, I don’t know what’s eating at you, or what you’re so mad, or whatever it is, but-“

“Just fucking tell me!”

“Low tolerance for bullshit. I gotcha.” He walked over to the gate leading out of the arena. “First, we get you settled in the Overboss’ quarters on Fizztop Mountain, then we can talk all about it.”

*

Another animatronic mannequin flew over the edge of the balcony in the Overboss’ new home on Fizztop Mountain. Gage growled in frustration. 

“Listen, there are three raider gangs that run the show at Nuka World- the Disciples, the Operators, and the Pack.”

A box of broken dishes followed another mannequin and two benches out the window.

He watched them disappear from sight. “And yeah, if the names didn’t give it away, these ain’t your typical raiders. These morons don’t exactly play nice with each other. Thanks to Colter, this place is a powder keg just waiting to blow sky high. One wrong move and we’re going to have a bloodbath on our hands.”

Another mannequin. “Why did that psycho have so many stupid fake bodies in here? Couldn’t find any real people to love him?”

Fear flared in her eyes at her own words. It disappeared as her customary anger dropped down in front of it. She grabbed the corner of a broken lunch table and began tugging it toward the balcony. “What else? There’s more, I’m sure.”

Gage snarled and grabbed the table. “Look at me, would you? I’ll help you re-decorate lat-“ 

Her lips slammed against his. Her hands slipped from the table and held his face as she devoured him. 

Not stopping to question, he wrapped his arms around her, allowing her anything she wanted. She was a potent force, quiet and deadly, beautiful. In pain. Her sweet, soft lips left his, as she yanked at his armor, willing to wrench it off to get to the man underneath. 

He didn’t understand. Honestly, he didn’t care. She wanted him. That was enough. He made short work of unbuckling her combat armor, then helped her frustrated hands remove his. She tore at his shirt, passion and need driving her to an almost fevered panic. She clawed at his pants.

He picked her up and threw her on the bed. Skillfully unlacing a boot, he roughly pulled it off her and tossed it into a corner. He slid down her pants, pulling off the one leg. Lining up his thick cock, he slowly pushed himself into her and waited.

Her deep, satisfied groan, thrilled him in a way he had never felt before. She ground against him. 

“Move. I need you, Porter Gage.”

He sank into her all the way to the hilt. Dear God, he could have come just on the erotic, satisfied noises she made.

“Mmmmmore, Gage! Mmmmm oh god you feel so good. I can’t… I want… aaaaaaa… “ She rolled her hips, clenching and milking his cock, as he drove into her again and again. 

She stiffened, and he knew she was close. He sped up, almost pounding into her to bring her to the edge. 

He was… going… to.. 

She bit back a scream, her body bucking as he thrust into her orgasm. Only then did he allow himself to release, shuddering, and pushing himself as far into her as he could. Dark, wide pupils stared into his, then her eyes closed as she kissed him violently again. He tasted blood.

“More. You feel amazing. Can you give me more, Porter?” 

He smiled down at the life coming into her eyes. “Sweetheart, I can do this to you all night, if you want me to.”

“Do it…. please.”

He slowly slid almost completely out of her, then just as slowly, pushed back in, feeling her delicious, velvety flesh surround him. He wasn’t particularly long, he considered himself of average length, but he was thick, heavy. He wanted her to feel everything he could give as he rutted deeply, glorying in her wet, hot need. 

She groaned, a guttural, primal sound, as she bore down against him. He sped up. As soon as he felt her quicken, he slowed. He gave her a single slam, then waited. 

Her needy whine was a sweet song to his raider’s heart. Oh yes, he could do this to her all night.

Eyes black with need slashed at him. “Move, Porter Gage. If you can’t, I’ll find someone who can.”

What?! Who the fuck…?! “To hell you will!” He snarled angrily. “You’re mine.” He rammed into her, bumping and shoving, as if he could go deeper, pin her to the bed, and make her stay right there. He slid back, then hilted, spiking her to the bed with his thick shaft again.

She laughed. “No baby. I’m mine. You just have something I need.” She hooked her ankles behind his back, and pushed back, savoring his strength, and the power of his thrusts. 

He wanted to stop, to hold back what she wanted so badly, but she felt so, so good. He slid thickly into her sweet, hot folds, feeling her soft muscles grip him, gliding through the deep slick of her body welcoming his, and his first incredible release into her. His cock pushed in deeply, eager to please her, and slowly withdrew, basking in her touch, worshipping her. 

He leaned down and bit her neck, marking her. She was his, damn it. He might die by her angry hand, but he’d go to hell cheerfully, knowing that for at least a moment, she had been his alone.

Christine’s nails tore down his back.

His mouth came down on hers, swallowing her angry words. He held the back of her neck, punishing her with his kiss when she tried to pull away. Her fist struck the side of his head. He snatched her wrist and held it away, and in one swift move, rolled her above him. He released her, and lay still, waiting for her wrath to finish him.

She went very still. Cautious, angry eyes silently questioned him. 

Gage held her gaze, answering nothing. He slowly reached up and tugged her shirt.

He felt a rush of relief as the fury in her eyes faded. She regarded him thoughtfully. Sadly. Then she pulled herself off of his cock, and walked into the bathroom.

She took the sun with her. The last setting rays washed across the empty space next to him in the bed, then faded to nothing, as the sun dropped behind the horizon.

 

Christine stood staring at herself in the mirror as the door opened behind her. Gage’s breath caught as his eyes devoured her naked body. She was slim, her muscles melting into creamy curves. Soft. Delicious. Waiting.

Under her curious gaze, he stripped off the rest of his clothes, and stood behind her, pulling her back against his chest. His hands wandered her body. He pressed soft kisses along her collar, and up her neck. He suckled on her earlobe.

“No more biting.” he whispered. “I get it.”

He gripped her breast, weighing it in his hand, teasing her nipple with his thumb. His other hand slid down her stomach to between her legs. He nudged her legs further apart, kneading her clit, as he slipped a finger into her. 

She relaxed against him, her deep moan of pleasure resonating in his groin. He pulsed his cock against her sweet ass. Her body writhed against his.

He slid his finger out, replacing it with the tip of his cock. She groaned again, and ground back against him with more urgency.

Pressing her chest to the counter, he thrust into her from behind. He gripped her hips, pulling her onto him more deeply, pumping himself in, and dragging out, again and again. He leaned forward and kissed the scattered maze of scars on her back. 

“I want you, girl. I don’t know what you’re so mad at, but you can take it out on me. I can handle whatever you feel like you need to do.”

He watched her back tense. She braced her hands against the wall. “Then move, Gage. Move like you mean it.”

“You got it, Boss.” 

He sped up, thrusting sharply, his fingers tweaking and pinching her clit. She jerked, and he hauled her back against him.

“Stay with me, girl. It’ll be worth it.” He began to piston hard. She locked her elbows against the force. 

She felt it growing, stronger and stronger, a burning, stinging, tickling intensity that rushed in, exploding in her, then raced down her legs, and rushing upwards, tingling her nipples. He caught her as her legs gave way, ramming in his last feverish thrusts before forcing his seed deep into her spasming depths. He slid to the floor, carrying her boneless body with him. 

He surveyed her closed eyes with satisfaction. “Hey. You okay in there?”

“Umm hmmm.”

He waited. 

Just as he was about to give her a shake, her eyes slowly opened. 

“Thank you, Porter Gage. I feel much better.” Her eyes closed again.

He chuckled. “Anytime, Boss. Anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, time to get good and tangled. Looking forward to your thoughts.


	35. I Survived Because The Fire Inside Me Was Brighter Than The Fire Around Me -Joshua Graham

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wings, Surreal Bananas, and Confidence
> 
> Smut. Do not read this between classes.

Chapter 35

Dawn was just lighting the horizon. Gage lay quietly, watching the slow rise and fall of her naked back as his boss slept on, oblivious to the fierce woody that had woken him. He stroked himself, willing her to wake up, and be in a very needy mood.

He grunted. Waiting for her to wake up was not going to happen. He pressed a soft kiss to her back. He worked his way lower, breathing hotly along her spine, wandering the tip of his tongue, and dropping the occasional kiss. 

Waking a woman gently was not usually Gage’s way. Waking her at all was secondary to fulfilling his needs, which at the moment meant finding a meat sleeve for his raging erection. He was a raider, and raiders took what they wanted.

Not with her though. She was dangerous, unpredictable. She’d be more likely to slice off his pecker and choke him to death with it. She was the Overboss, and that title hadn’t come cheap.

All of that aside, something in her made him want to wake her softly. To stroke her smooth skin, kiss her awake, watch her sleepy eyes warm for him, her warm, rosy body rise under his hand, and reach out to him with her want. To desire him. He had been a raider since he was old enough to have wet dreams, and had rutted wherever and whenever the hell he wanted to. But she was so clean, so sweet, he couldn’t bring himself to sully her perfection with a hard fuck and be gone. He wanted to make love. Slowly. Gently. He wanted to make love to her.

His rough hands slid along her body, keeping pace with the soft kisses he dropped along the back of her leg, all the way to her arch. He smiled against her skin, as she twitched in response to his light lick. 

His tongue traveled upward, taking a moment to suck on the soft flesh on the back of her knee, before moving higher. At the junction of her thighs, he nuzzled his face in, his tongue probing her warm, moist folds. He heard a sexy, pleased noise, before she shifted her legs further apart, granting him better access. He chuckled, and pushed in further. Saliva mixed with the gathering wetness of her arousal. Her hips began rocking with his tongue. 

She felt his warm body leave hers.

“Mmmmmm?” She reached back, somewhat disgruntled at the disappearance of his attentions. 

His heavy body returned, sliding up her back until his hard shaft was tucked against the slickness between her legs. She lifted her ass, writhing sensually against him. 

He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to calm his body enough to concentrate.

Her soft, sexy hum repeated, and she reached back, kneading and stroking his buttocks, inviting him to continue.

Apparently he was doing it right. Not bad for a raider.

Wrapping his arms around her to hold her steady, he slowly sank his aching cock into her soft body.

Her deep groan of erotic, sensual pleasure ignited him. He worked in her, thrusting slowly, powerfully, filling her with every inch, pulling almost completely out, then surging back into her. Her hips rolled against him, angling up for every thick plunge. 

He started to shake.

“Come with me, girl,” he whispered. 

He slid his hands under her, one up to squeeze her breast, thumbing the nipple, the other traveling lower. He began rubbing her clit hard.

The effect was instantaneous. She pushed herself up his cock, grinding and rocking in rhythm with his hand. Her hums became louder, incoherent sounds bubbling into a single keen as an orgasm jolted through her body. He kept her crushed tightly against him, jacking erratically, his shout muffled against her back as he exploded deep inside her. 

He relaxed on her, heaving, trying to catch his breath. God damn. She was flawless.

Christine reached back and scrubbed at the baby fine hairs on the back of her neck that his heavy breathing had ruffled, tickling her. He nudged her hand out of the way with his nose and kissed the offended area. 

She giggled. 

Gage smiled at the silly noise, coming from his serious angry girl. His boss, he corrected himself. The Overboss.

At the moment she didn’t look like anyone’s boss. Just a sex-satiated woman, lying pleased and exhausted on her belly, her flushed body catching the morning light, as the sun shone through the east window of Fizztop, briefly blinding him.

Rolling off, he pressed another kiss to her spine. This was a fine way to wake up. He could get used to this.

He squinted at her, then sat up straight, his mouth falling open.

As the sun lit her back, the myriad scars crisscrossing her skin, seemed to drift into place, the thin and thick white lines coming together to create… feathers. Row upon row of feathers, shaped into a… pair of wings. 

She had wings.

“Gage?” Her voice was muffled in the pillow. “Porter? Are you okay? You got awful quiet. Did you hurt something?” She started to rise.

He pushed her back down. “No! Wait!” He stroked her back, running his fingertips along the scars, tracing her feathers with a gentle hand. 

He had never seen anything like it. She was… She was beautiful. Deadly, angry, sweet, soft… he didn’t know what she was. But he knew now that she could never be his. 

He was a raider. Despite the softness she made him feel when he was with her, he was a man devoted to cruelty, death, and hate. He schemed to kill and destroy, while trying not be killed or destroyed by another raider. He was tough. Smart. Strong.

And totally out of his league. He had made love to an angel.

The sun rose higher, blurring her wings back into random scars, but he knew what he had seen.

Wasn’t she…? She was…, right?

He leaned down and smacked her ass sharply.

“AAAAAHH!” She leaped up, and knocked him back to the bed, biting his left nipple savagely. 

“EEEAAAHHWOMAN! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?!” He hauled her against his chest, tucking her up snugly to his side. “Jesus! You are the most-“

“Slap my ass again and I’ll bite your dick off.” She settled in comfortably.

“Bet those first few seconds while you’re getting your mouth in place would be worth it.” 

He could feel her smile against his chest. Her fingers trailed up his stomach, fluffed his chest hair, and explored his scars. 

“Why do you wear the eye armor, Gage? You don’t need it.”

He snorted. “What is this? Twenty questions? I wear it to look tough, okay? Not as easy as it looks being a raider. Humpf. My turn. What’s your name?”

“Christine.”

“Christine what?”

“Just Christine, and you get a freebie question.”

“Freebie?”

“Freebie. Free. No blood, no foul, no answer, so you get to ask something else instead.”

“What if I ask your name again? You have to answer this time, right?”

“Nope. Double indemnity. Can’t be convicted of the same crime twice.”

“Uh, sure. Someday you’ll have to tell me what that all means. How many freebies do you get?”

“Just one.”

“So you have to answer everything else I ask now?”

“You realize you’ve asked seven questions already.”

“What?! What kind of- no, I take that back. Seven, plus the one I just asked, minus my freebie. I’m at seven. Who is he?”

“He who? Clarification, not a question.”

“The one who carved wings into your back.”

She went very still. For a moment, he was worried he had made her angry again. 

“Wings?”

“Yeah, wings. I only saw them for a second, the sun hit them just right. Then the sun moved a little bit, and they were gone.”

“I have wings carved into my back.” It was a statement.

“That’s what I just said. You mean you didn’t know? How do you not know there’s wings carved into the skin of your back? I’m a raider, and I don’t even know the answer to that one.”

The look on her face answered the question for him. 

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Christine, forget the game. Tell me what’s going on in your head.”

“My… head…?”

“Yes your head. A girl like you has friends, more than just the skinny guy in glasses you threw out of the transit station, but you didn’t go to them. You deliberately took on the Gauntlet, killed Colter and became the new Overboss. You fucked my brains out, you’re angry and something’s eating you and it should be me, and you let a man scar your back to look like wings, who isn’t me either. I know who you are, General Christine Christopher of the Commonwealth Minutemen. I know what you’ve done out there. What I don’t know is why you’re in Nuka World and not killing every raider you see, starting with me, and what’s going on in your damn head.”

She looked like he had smacked her with a big, heavy, thick board. 

“Gage…”

“No, it’s okay. I wasn’t going to say anything, but your wings threw me. Never heard about them before.”

“Me either, Gage. I… never knew. No one has ever mentioned it before, and you think someone would. Though I guess no one else has seen my naked back in the morning sun.” Her face was frustrated, and confused. “I don’t understand.”

He settled her back in against his chest. “I do. And if you loved me half as much as you love that other guy, I’d be one happy man. Tell me about him.”

“You already knew my name.”

“I know lots of things about you. Don’t think anyone else in Nuka World cares for much past their gangs and their next victims, but I do. The world is a big place, and I want to see problems coming before they hit. Call it a lesson learned the hard way. But you, baby, I needed you here. You’re the only person I could see who’d do a good job of sorting out this shitfuck mess we’ve gotten ourselves into. I can’t solve shit. But I did come up with the idea of the Gauntlet. Colter saw it as a game. Me and the raider bosses saw it as a way to cull us a new leader. Took you damn long enough to check out the Nuka World signal. Not that I mind watching stupid people die while I was waiting, but who I needed was you. The General. Damn if you didn’t turn out to be the sexiest, most dangerous angel I’ve ever plugged my cock into. And smart. I’d like you to be MY angel, only I’m pretty sure this artist with a knife has too much of your attention. We could be real good together.”

She grimaced. “Stop being such a good guy, Gage. You’re a raider. You’re a bad guy.”

“Well maybe some unnamed angel’s rubbing off on me.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb, and kissed her forehead again. “Wings. Start there.”

“A synth shot out the fusion core on my own power armor, that’s how I knew to do it on Colter. For reasons I’m not going to go into, I took a couple stimpaks, which sort of healed the burned skin, and clothes, and everything right into my back. Painful, infected, ugly. My… friend knocked me out with a bottle of whiskey, and cut away all the dead tissue and stuff. When I woke up, my back was almost completely healed. I couldn’t see it, of course, but it felt better. I felt good. He never said anything about wings.”

Gage watched the troubled look cloud her face again. “Now what?”

“Porter Gage, are you real?”

“What? Of course I’m real. Did those orgasms feel real? Did that slap on your ass feel real? Where’s this coming from?”

“I’m a cryo experiment, Gage! Or did you already know that too? Before the war, two hundred some-odd years ago I volunteered to be cryogenically frozen. I woke up a few years ago, here, in this irradiated crazy land, where scorpions are huge and glow, and zombies attack you, monsters like deathclaws and supermutants walk around, and crabs are as tall as I am, and me- a philosophy student from MIT, lead an army of colonial militia… can you see how utterly bananas this all is? To me? I haven’t been in this my whole life. I wasn’t born here. Every inch of this god-forsaken land is straight out of a nightmare. Am I awake and this is real? Am I still frozen and sleeping, and this is all a very bad dream? I exist, therefore I am? Do I really exist here, or do I think I exist here? Or am I pretending I exist in a place I don’t want to be? Or do I want to be here?”

She broke down, burrowing her face down into the pillows under his ribcage, her muffled voice leaking out. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Gage. What the hell am I doing? I just want to stay right here, in this bed, with you. Let this be my new reality. Dorothy never wakes up. She stays in Oz forever.”

Bananas? What the fuck is a bananas? “I have that book, Christine.”

Her head popped up. “You’ve read the Wizard of Oz?”

“Yes I have. I can write too, damn it.”

She kissed his ribs and burrowed back down under his armpit. Her voice came out muffled again. “Sorry.”

Gage took in her long body stretched out along his side, her leg tangled with his, her arm clinging across his stomach. She was everything he hadn’t even realized he wanted- smart, tough, strong, beautiful, fiery, sexy.... sweet, soft, loving, trusting, silly. So vulnerable right now. At that moment, he knew he would defy the world to keep her safe, keep her his. Fuck the knife guy.

But that wasn’t his choice to make. Sooner or later, she would go back. She would remember who she was inside, and leave. She’d leave him. 

“Baby,” he said softly, “What do you want to be real? If you’re still frozen and sleeping, is this the only life you’ll ever get? The one you dream up? What if you die in that freezer or whatever? What if you’re already dead? Christine, you’re either alive, or you’re dead. Alive and living this, lying right here in this bed with me on Fizztop Mountain. Or you’re alive and dreaming this, or maybe dead and dreaming this. If it’s a dream, keep dreaming and make it right, and take everything that goes with it. You don’t have to wake up. Maybe you shouldn’t. Maybe if you leave the dream, you’ll find out you’re dead, or still frozen. I think it comes down to what you want. What do you want to believe?”

He pinched her hip. Hard.

She squawked, her head popping up again. “GAGE! OWWW! WHY’D YOU DO THAT?!”

“Did I wake you up?”

“Hmmmm maybe.” 

He rubbed the pinch mark roughly. “Christine, in your philosophy school, you ever come across a person who said ‘The things is to find a truth which is true for me, and find the idea for which I can live and die’?”

She stared at him, shocked. He had…

“Kierkegaard”, she said faintly.

“I told you I read. Everything I get my hands on.” He slapped her hip, lightly this time. “Existentialism- free choice. Libertarian- open future. Angst- the recognition of the utter meaninglessness of life, which you beat by using your own existence to build circumstances that create the meaning you can’t find. Any of this sounding familiar yet? And kitten, you don’t stop staring at me like I have a deathclaw exploding out of my left fucking nostril, I’m going to smack more than just your god damn ass.”

Christine blinked. “Heidegger. You. Read. Books.”

She tackled him, kissing him, giggling, and kissing him again. “Porter Gage, you just got so much sexier! Wow! Damn!”

She wiggled over and straddled him, her pink folds slicking his cock with heat. “Wanna star in my nightmare, big boy? The one where my world of craziness is set right by an intelligent, book-reading raider in an irradiated amusement park, who spouts philosophy?”

She grinned as his shaft hardened instantly, pushing at her entrance. She shifted a little and guided him into her. He groaned, her delicious hot flesh enveloping his cock.

“You always this shifty? You’re mad, you’re happy, confused, upset, happy… Now you’re sexy and horny again. You are one confusing woman.”

“It’s my job, Porter Gage”, she said loftily. “A solemn obligation to women everywhere. I must keep my man as off balanced as possible, at all times.”

She gave a few experimental bucks, and chuckled as his eyes rolled up in his head.

Suddenly he sat up, and clamped her to his chest, startling her. “Gage!-”

His hungry mouth cut off her words. 

One hand gripped the back of her neck, keeping her locked in his kiss. His tongue forced between her lips, exploring thoroughly, impatiently. He groaned again as her arms tightened around his neck, and she returned his blatant intrusion, the sensual fight an arousing accompaniment to their thrusting ride.

His other arm slid to her hips, guiding, and locking her where his rolling hips could grind against her very sensitive nub. Her head fell back, her eyes closed with pleasure. He chewed gently on her neck. 

She growled warningly. His teeth gave way to gnawing, sucking kisses wreathing her collarbone.

Her head lowered, and he felt her hot breath in his ear.

“Mark me, and I’ll rip your dick off and spike it to your forehead.”

He rumbled and thrust harder. “Stop me, baby. If you can.” He bit the top of her breast.

He felt her jump against their rhythm, and chuckled evilly. “Or maybe you like it when I do this.” He bit her again.

He laughed as she threw herself against him, driving him onto his back. His hands dropped to her hips, pushing and pulling as she rode him hard.

Pleasure coiled into a hard knot in his groin. Her eyes, deep and distracted with her passion, held his. Her beautiful, perfect lips were parted, framing short, hard pants with every thrust. Her breasts bobbed like succulent fruit, waiting to be devoured by his lust. He reached for-

And her body was gone. He felt her teeth close on his throat, painfully beginning to cut off his breathing. He froze.

“No… Chris…tine… I’ll st…I’ll st…” 

She didn’t stop. Her jaws closed further.

He didn’t fight her.

This wasn’t a bad way to die, he thought as pinpricks of light began to sparkle on the edge of his darkening vision. My throat torn out by an angel. Seems a fitting end for a raider.

The pressure on his throat released. 

He gasped for breath. Pleasure burst in his skull as she thrust herself back onto his throbbing shaft. 

She rocked gently, one eyebrow raised.

“Got it.” he whispered hoarsely. “No marks.”

She smiled.

“Don’t look at that spot I pinched on your hip then.” He drew a slow line down between her breasts with his finger. 

“You’re leaving me now, aren’t you.” 

“Yes. I am. As soon as I decide what to do about whatever you need me to Overboss. I can’t imagine you pushed the General into your Gauntlet-“

“I like pushing my General into your Gauntlet.” He gave a hard pump, bouncing her in his lap. She laughed. 

“Me too. But you need me to fix your raider problem. That’s not going to be easy, Gage, or you’d have done it yourselves already. I’m going to want some payback too. I’m your Overboss. I own these raiders. I may need them in the future.”

“You’ll have to be one hell of an Overboss to do that. They’ll need to owe you. What I got in mind will solve both our problems.”

Gage watched her eyes sadden. Become serious. Become the eyes of the woman who had stormed Nuka World, but without the anger now. The eyes of a woman who killed raiders to save her settlers. The eyes of the General.

“You’re going back to him.”

“No. It can’t be like that with us. He… He doesn’t want me. He felt like someone special, but I stood in his doorway, and he told me not to come in. He’s a friend. That’s all it’s ever going to be. I can live with that.”

He frowned. “Look, if he ever-“

“Thank you Gage.”

He stared at her for a moment, then nodded. “You staying in Oz then?”

“Yes. Yes I am. Alive or dead or dreaming or awake, this is where I am. This is what I’m doing. Irradiated hell after a nuclear war. My volleyball-playing ass is going to go save people from monsters, line my armor with broken bathtub, and eat toasted bug for breakfast.” She smiled mischievously. “Think the devil will mind if I rearrange a few things?”

“Baby, the devil doesn’t stand a chance.”

Suddenly, he rolled himself above her, and pumped heavily a few times. “You know, if you really want to thank me…”

She laughed. A beautiful, happy laugh like angels are supposed to, he thought, smiling back. 

She pulled him down, and kissed him fiercely, sucking on his bottom lip. She hooked her ankles behind his hips. “Then move, Gage.”

Lucky damn man.

*

“Take good care of my raider stronghold while I’m gone, Porter Gage. I better not come back and find it full of namby-pamby, hymn-singing Twinkies. If I’m going to be cleaning out the park, there better be someone worth putting in it when I’m done.”

They were strolling down Main Street toward the transit station. She hadn’t bothered to wash off the blood from her run through the Gauntlet. His eyepatch was in its customary place.

“What’s a Twinkie? And bananas too, for that matter.”

“It’s that sweet little fuckhole you’ve been playing with on the ‘Overboss’ here.” A pack of raiders strode up, forming a loose circle around them. “Bet she’s a fine little piece. Don’t worry, you can have her back when we’re-“

Christine’s new plasma pistol exploded the woman’s face, cutting off the rest of what she had been about to say. The plasma charge consumed the raider instantly, leaving only a small puddle of goo where she had previously been standing. 

The rest of the group backed up in shock.

Christine struggled to not show her surprise at what her new toy did. Hells bells! What if that stupid alien had hit her?! She pointed her pistol at the next raider. “You feel the same way?”

The woman looked from the gun to the pile of goo, and back up at Christine. “Uhhh…”

“Wrong answer.” Christine shot her in the face, creating a second puddle. She moved on to the next raider.

“You going to have any trouble doing what my man Gage here says while I’m gone?”

The man cursed defiantly. “Bitch, you’re still just-“

ZZAP! Third goo puddle.

The fourth raider didn’t bother to wait for Christine’s question. She opened fire.

Christine scuttled behind a pile of crates, and checked her ammo load. 

“Fucking raiders”, she muttered. She slung her gauss rifle into play, and stepped out. 

ZZZPANG! ZZZPANG! ZZZPANG! ZZZPANG! ZZZPANG! 

Five raiders worth of paste spattered the walls of Downtown Nuka World. 

Christine caught a bullet in her leg. She ducked into an alley, smacked in a stimpak, topped off her ammo load, and leaped back out into the fight. Bullets and grenades flew.

“WHOA! HEY STOP! OVERBOSS, THERE AIN’T GOING TO BE A NUKA WORLD LEFT IF YOU DON”T STOP KILLING EVERYBODY!”

Gage, dodged another bullet, still waving his arms. “COME ON! Everyone just cool off a little now here. Boss,” he gestured around at the raiders. “See, we just don’t play nice. Not with each other, not with anyone. You’ll go through every bullet you have, and every raider here, and still won’t find anyone willing to go along with a single thing you say, even if you’re saying wheels are round, and water’s wet. We just don’t.”

He waved off the crowd. “Get lost. You can try to kill me later.” 

Muttering, and bathing Christine and Gage both in hate-filled looks, they wandered off.

Gage took in the merrily twinkling eyes of his boss with disgust. “Really? That’s how you’re going to keep this place in order? Maybe –“

Christine planted a hard kiss on his lips. “Bye Baby. I’ll be back soon. Good luck!”

And she disappeared into the transit station.

*

“She’s gone to answer a call for help from a little farm by that gunner junkyard we cleared out!” Ronnie Shaw’s strident voice rang through the halls of the Castle. She strode into Colonel Garvey’s office, dragging young Private Walsh by the ear. She pushed the young girl in front of him.

“What the…?! Where the…?! Private, when did she check in? How long ago was this?!” Colonel Garvey jumped up, and threw the hat he had been mangling onto the desk.

Private Kim Walsh rubbed her smarting ear, then sprang to attention. “Sir, Corporal Finette just now asked me to tell you. The General just contacted the Castle to let you know she was on her way to Diamond City. Then he made an announcement for any Minutemen in the area to help a family at a place called Finch Farm rescue their son from some raiders called ‘The Forged’, and the General contacted him right off and said she was on her way, then the corporal told me to tell you.” 

She scowled at Sergeant Shaw. “Didn’t have to yank on my ear. I was coming right here anyway,” she muttered.

“Don’t give me any of your sass, young lady. You should have run in here double-time.”

“I’m not being sassy. I’m standing up for myself. I’m being confident. The General said confidence is good, in a person, and soldier both.”

“I’m confident you’re being sassy. The next time-“

Preston broke into their argument. “Private, thank you for getting this information to me. You’re dismissed.” 

He watched Walsh until she was almost out of earshot, then turned to Ronnie. 

“Christine knows getting to Diamond City is her priority. Why would she drop that to rescue someone? We have plenty of Minutemen in that area. Any of them could have taken the call. Other than she’s just being Christine. Damn, we just got her back from Nuka World, or whatever it’s called that Deacon said he lost her. For two days, Beckett and his entire first platoon tried to get in there and rescue her, but they couldn’t even get the monorail working! She disappeared, and just now checks in, and she’s off again, to the other end of the Commonwealth, no less. She has a mission that takes precedence. And sooner or later, she’s going to have to do something about all those reports on her desk that she hasn’t written yet. She’s supposed to be keeping track of-“ 

Ronnie burst out laughing. “That’s what she has you for, Garvey. You’re her assistant General.” She patted him on the back. “She’s not going to change just because she has a title. She runs around helping people. She’s a damn unconventional leader, but it’s what she does. Look at how the Minutemen are coming together. Look at how the Commonwealth is coming together!”

Private Walsh came running back into the office. She stopped short, slammed to attention, took a few more running steps, and then went to attention again. “Sir! I think I know why the General went to the Finch’s!” She threw another salute, looking back and forth between Preston and Ronnie.

“Well spit it out!” 

“Sir, Sergeant Shaw, I used to live in that area, til the gunners killed our parents and drove my sister and I out. Sir, the Forged are raiders who live in the old Saugus Ironworks factory. They call themselves the Forged, because of the fires. They’re all about fire, Sir. I think the General might think they had something to do with the fires at our settlements. That’s why she went!”

Colonel Garvey and Sergeant Shaw stared at each other.

Kim reached out and tugged Preston’s sleeve. “Sir, I know the General is good and all, but the Forged, they’re mean, and there’s a lot of them, and they use fire for everything. They all have flamethrowers, and Molotovs, and flaming rippers, and stuff. We stayed well clear of them. She isn’t going in there alone, is she? Sir? Sergeant Shaw? Other Minutemen are there too, right?”

Colonel Garvey brushed past her, running for the door, Ronnie right behind him.

“FINETTE! PUT OUT A CALL FOR EVERY MINUTEMAN IN THE AREA TO MEET THE GENERAL AT THE FINCH’S FARM! AND TRY TO GET THE GENERAL BACK ON! WE NEED TO STOP HER!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the character in the real world, watch them grow on their journey, then return to the real world to see how far they've come.   
> How does it fit in then, when we meet a character, our understanding of the character grows, then we see them in their real world differently because of the journey we've taken?
> 
> Note that though other men will see her back, if it's not in the morning sun, they won't see the wings. Did I make that clear enough in the story?


	36. Things Do Not Happen. Things Are Made To Happen- JFK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paperwork vs. People, and a genuine Nuka World Thirst Zapper full of gasoline.

Chapter 36

 

“There. They have th transmitter. Can we go now?” Cait was already half out the door of the Cambridge Police Station. 

Danse lost himself for a moment in her green, green eyes, then looked back at Haylen and Rhys, who were waiting attentively. He turned back to Cait again. “Cait, I-“

“Don’t worry about us, Sir.” Haylen politely interrupted. We’ll get the transmitter installed, and wait for the Brotherhood extraction team here. If you check our frequency when you can, you’ll hear when we have an ETA for their arrival.”

“Let’s be goin already!” Cait’s head was the only part of her still visible around the edge of the door. “Chris needs us, and ye know if she’s actually askin fer help, she’s going te be takin on somethin big. She’ll go in alone if we don’t get there te back her up. S’just how she is. Come on, big man!”

“Go ahead, sir. We’ve got everything covered here.” Rhys handed him some ammo and another stimpak.

Danse felt like he was being pushed out of his own house. Cait was waiting impatiently in the doorway, Haylen had taken the deep range transmitter and was heading to the roof, and Rhys had picked up his broom and resumed sweeping the common area. Everyone had already decided what they, and he was going to do. 

It didn’t sit well with him. He loved spending time with Cait, and could convince himself that he did it to learn more of the occupying military force in the Commonwealth, with only the most fleeting wisp of guilt, but he knew Elder Maxson, would see right through him. Cait was a distraction, however enjoyable, or useful. But duty and honor were in Danse’s very blood. He had departed the Capital Wasteland on a mission, and he would perform his mission in his usual stellar fashion, and await the extraction team here at the police station, with the rest of his patrol.

He squared his shoulders. There. That felt more like Paladin Danse.

“Cait, I’m sorry, but I need to remain here to prepare for the arrival of the Brotherhood. I still have a great deal of information to correlate and format in order to-“

“No. We need ye, Danse. The General o’ th Minutemen asked fer yer help. Ye want te win hearts an minds o’ th people, ye’d be good off te start there.”

“Cait, as a Paladin of the Brotherhood of Stee-“

“Give me back my Junk Jet.”

“WHAT?!” Danse stepped protectively in front of where it sat on the tabletop. “It’s mine. I told you I’d give you my laser rifle for it.”

“Yer damn rifle isn’t as good as me own, an I’ll need J2 fightin these Forged raiders, an ye won’t because all yer doin is paperwork.”

“J2?”

“Somethin Chris does. If a number or thing is repeated, she shortens it by doin that. If it was th Jumpin Junk Jet, I’d call it J3. Works fer names too. Mostly. Pete Peters at Nordhagen she calls Pete2. But then John Johnson at TenPines she calls Johnny John. Hmmm.”

She stepped out of her power armor, leaving it blocking the doors, and came to where she stood right in front of him, a tiny gust of wind before his armored steel mountain. Her disappointment was unmistakable.

Cait laid her hand on his metal gauntlet. “Ye can keep th J2 if ye come with me, big man. Keep it fer real and fer ever. Please, Danse.”

He felt her gentle touch, even through his armor. Once again, he was lost to her incredible eyes. 

Confused. That’s what she does to me, he thought. She makes me confused. 

Cait waited for him to answer. When he remained silent, she removed her hand and climbed back into her armor. 

“Never mind. Ye can keep it. It matters more te ye than te me anyhow. What does matter te me is getting Chris out o’ this mission alive, so I’ll need te be goin now. Tell Haylen an Rhys I said goodbye.”

Cait’s power armor hissed closed around her, and she left, leaving Danse in a room that was suddenly too quiet, too empty. 

Rhys silently watched Danse from the shadows of the file room. 

His superior had never ever asked for anything for himself the entire time Rhys had known the man. Danse shone, a sparkling example to every soldier around him of what a Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel was, heart, soul, and body dedicated to the ideals and mission that were the unbreakable foundation of every man and woman who filled their ranks. His leader has never faltered, never failed. Members of their team had died on his watch, and Rhys knew Danse would have given his own life, and proudly, to save each and every one. His shrewd tactical decisions, and legendary courage had focused Rhys, an angry man haunting the ruins of the Capital Wasteland for vengeance on the death of his father, the only family Rhys had ever known, into a strong, fierce soldier, every bone in his body dedicated to the tenets of the Brotherhood. Elder Maxson led the Brotherhood of Steel, but Rhys would always have only one leader, and that was Danse.

Danse sighed deeply, straightened his back, and headed for the terminal to record their missions and findings.

The Paladin found himself unable to concentrate. In his mind, he watched Cait walk away alone, her beloved automatic .45 that shot explosive bullets held at the ready. What did she call it again? Spray and Pray? 

He smiled. She had been so mad when he called it Salt and Pepper!

It was a long road from Cambridge to her goal in the north, and she had no one to watch her back, no one to keep her safe. But she wasn’t afraid. She believed in her mission to save the people of the Commonwealth. 

And he had to do paperwork. 

Paperwork versus people. Why had he joined the Brotherhood again?

Back in DC, Elder Owyn Lyons had led the Brotherhood. With every resource at his disposal, he had endeavored to save the people there, just as Cait’s Minutemen did here. His own daughter, Sentinel Sarah Lyons, had led an elite, mobile attack force within the Brotherhood of Steel. Elder Lyons had helmed the defense of Project Purity, the brainchild of scientists in the Capital Wasteland to create a vast supply of drinkable water, free from radiation. A goal to save the people of the wasteland. The Brotherhood had held off attackers, so the scientists could complete the project. In the wake of that victory, small pockets of peace had begun to appear, but they had failed, as Elder Lyons had died, and the Steel was passed to Arthur Maxson. 

Elder Maxson was also intent on saving the wasteland, but his focus was a more long-term solution. The Brotherhoods missions had changed from one of saving people directly, to actively seeking out and recovering technology, to keep another war from ever happening again. 

Danse had always felt a little iffy on the change. Lyons had put the future of the world into the hands of the people, protecting them as they taught themselves to begin again. Elder Maxson’s plans put the control into his hands alone. Danse hadn’t understood, but Maxson was a driven, charismatic man, demanding Danse’s honor and strength to lead his soldiers. Proudly, Danse had complied. He had undertaken mission after successful mission, a shining silver knight leading the charge to rebuild the wasteland. Then he had come to the Commonwealth, met Cait, and learned about the Minutemen.

Led by General Christopher, the sole survivor of a sick, Vault-Tec cryogenic experiment that had dumped her almost 300 years into the future, into a world vastly different from her past, the Minutemen had emerged from the ruins of the Commonwealth, a remarkable force for good. They fought to clear places where struggling people could come together and settle, build their own water purifiers, plant food, build homes and defenses, and learn to take care of themselves. Knowledge was shared, turning people who only a few weeks ago had been yearning for a safe place to sleep that night, and if they were lucky a can of dog food to eat, into doctors, provisioners, shopkeepers, teachers, and guards, all protected by the Minutemen themselves. People saving people. The ghost of Elder Lyons must be watching them proudly.

He stared at the terminal again. 

“Sir?”

Danse jumped. He hadn’t even heard Rhys come up behind him.

“Sir,” Rhys began respectfully, “Haylen and I can finish entering those reports, if you’d like. I don’t care for some of those insubordinate, insolent, rude wastelanders, but I see… well…” He glanced up at the steps leading to the roof, where Haylen was installing the deep range transmitter. “Sir, I can see where you could be someone they… need.”

Danse frowned. “Are you questioning my decision, Knight?”

Rhys swallowed uncomfortably. He had never in his entire history with his superior, even paused at doing exactly what he was ordered to do. Never disputed, challenged, or doubted a single word that Paladin Danse had ever said. Ever. Until today. 

Then he something else he had never ever done. He placed his hand on Danse’s shoulder. 

“Sir, I am. Because she needs you. And I’m going to be honest with you, sir. I think you need her.”

Danse glared at the hand on his shoulder, then at Rhys. “They’re insubordinate? You are remarkably, and improperly presumptuous to think I need instruction on how to conduct my personal and professional life, Knight Rhys. This is not a matter open to your intrusion. If I decide to help Cait, or the Minutemen, it will be because I choose to, and because I see it as the right thing to do, to benefit the Brotherhood, and the Commonwealth.”

He slammed his helmet on, and headed toward the door. “And consider yourself on clean-up detail for the rest of your military career.”

The door thundered shut behind him, shaking plaster dust from the ceiling.

Rhys grinned. 

 

Danse heard Cait’s voice before he saw her. Unfortunately, he could also hear the guttural assault of supermutants. By the sound, there were at least six.

“Ye sneaky shyte bastards! Were ye thinkin ye could kill me an have me bones fer yer supper? Ye’ll be thinkin again about that!”

BADADADADADADA! BADADA! 

The growling threats of the supermutants changed abruptly. “ARGH! PAIN!” “GAAAAH!” “BAD BUCKET HEAD!”

“Ye’ll be in more feckin pain if I don’t see yer sorry arses get out o’ here! Yer lucky I’m in a hurry-“

Danse grinned. Not a moment too late.

“AD VICTORIUM!” 

SHING SHING SHING THWAP CRUNCH CRUNCH SHOOOP!

Three forks, a clipboard, a ball peen hammer, two vases, and a machete shot through the air with unerring accuracy, dropping five of the green monstrosities. Cait watched in shocked surprise as a steady stream of kitchen implements, tools, and odd bobs flew past her.

THOOMF THUCK THOOP. The final supermutant stared stupidly at the beer bottle, feather duster, and hairbrush embedded in his chest, looked at Danse in confusion, then slithered to the ground, dead.

“DANSE!” Cait threw herself into his arms, heedless of her power armor, and his. “I knew ye wouldn’t let me down! I knew ye couldn’t ignore th people who need ye! Yer too good a man te let th world go te Hell while ye do paperworks!” 

She struggled to reach his lips past the bulk of their armor. “God damn armor! I love it, but I want te kiss ye! Hell I want te climb right down there inside yers with ye and show ye how happy I am ye came te me!”

To hell with his reports. To hell with his dented armor, the rocks Cait throws, and any other of the million reasons he should turn around and march right back to his terminal in the police station. He might be trying to control the most spectacular erection he had ever had in his life, but it was not the reason he was doing this. 

He was going to help save the people of the Commonwealth.

*

“Sweet Jesus!” 

Christine skittered behind Jefferson’s power armor, scooting from one side of his back to the other to avoid the flames spewing forcefully from the Forged’s flamethrower. A molotov hit the ground beside them, and Jefferson leaped to safety, dragging Christine with him.

“General! Why’d you give me your power armor! You need it! You’re going to be fried!” Jefferson shifted around into better position to step out of the armor. 

“NONONO!!!” Christine shrieked. “Keep it on! I need you to hide behind, and you need to look like the bigger threat! I have to be mobile right now! Stay with me, Eli! I need you!” 

She dropped to one knee in the dying flames, and pumped two icy shots into their attacker’s chest, then darted off toward where she could hear another pocket of battle, slapping at the smoking fabric on her leg. Jefferson threw up his hands in defeat, and trundled along behind her.

Wait. Where the hell did she go? God damn it, MacCready had warned him about this.

“YOU SORRY SON OF A BITCH! DO YOU SEE ME NOW? I’M WHAT YOU GET FOR FLAMING MY SETTLEMENTS!!!! 

Ahhh, there she is. Jefferson ran toward the sound of her voice.

Christine ran from an office and past him, and up another flight of metal stairs, then back down to him. 

“Jefferson come on! You have to keep up!” She shoved him around so she could get at his pack. “Turn around! I need to reload!”

“Yes Ma’am!” He helpfully slung the pack forward to her.

He watched her sweaty face scowl in concentration as she stuffed twelve more loads into her Cryolater. Soot smeared her cheek and jaw, and the fabric of her shirt had burned away, revealing a blistered scorch on her neck. The Minuteman insignia on her combat armor chestplate was unrecognizable under the ash smears and blistered metal. 

“LOOK OUT MA’AM!” 

Jefferson shoved Christine behind himself as three more Forged charged down the ramp at them at full speed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her scramble up the supports like a kid on a play structure. MacCready had warned him about that, too. A fourth Forged appeared on an upper, connecting catwalk, his flamer cranked to full flow. Flames enveloped Eli.

“OH HELL NO! I SWEAR TO GOD I’M GOING TO SEND YOUR SORRY ASS TO HELL RIGHT NOW! FUCKING RAIDERS!!!” 

From somewhere above and behind him, cryoshot streaked down. The man on the upper level’s shoulder sheared off, an icy trail freezing the wound shut. A second shot exploded into his face. The Forged’s flamer slipped from his frozen hands, falling to the floor far below the catwalks, as his solidly iced body toppled to the metal and shattered.

Fire blasted through the metal grating as the three Forged turned their focus from the power armored Minuteman to Christine on the catwalk above. She swung down directly behind Jefferson for protection, and shot around him, dropping their attackers with three well-placed cryo bullets. 

Not waiting to see if any had survived, Christine reduced the three bodies to frozen chunks with her .45, jumped over them, and headed to the next level.

Jefferson had never seen her like this before. She was a fierce, clever, capable fighter, the General, leader of dozens of Minutemen all over the Commonwealth, but right now? Now, she was manic, possessed, hunting the Forged with the focused intensity of a starving deathclaw. Dozens had fallen to her and the Minutemen, but he would have bet his entire hidden hoard of caps she could have turned the whole smelting factory to ash without them. 

She ran back down the ramp, and rapped on his helmet with the butt of her gun. 

“Hey Jefferson, you still with me? You in there? Are you hurt? Let’s go!”

Behind his helmet, he smiled at the concern breaking through the determination on her face. He could watch her face all day. She was ferocious in her protection of the people of the Commonwealth, frightening when she smiled sometimes, but sweet and caring, a loving soul put to the test daily. And he watched as she struggled and fought and killed, but after all of that, came home to Sanctuary to share a hug, a candy bar gleaned on her travels, and her songs. The ugliness of the Commonwealth couldn’t shy her nature. She was a genuinely loving person.

Rap rap rap. “Jefferson? Eli? Please say something!”

Say something? How about ‘I love you’? How about ‘I can’t bear to see you, and not be able to touch you.’ Or ‘Please say yes this time, when I ask you to come for a walk, or eat dinner with me, or sit with me at the fire’? 

“Oh god, hang on Jefferson! I’m going to open-“

“I’m fine, General.” He drank in the relief on her face. “Right behind you.”

“Oh good! You had me worried there for a second.” She patted his metal shoulder, and snatched back her hand as the glowing metal stung her. Grinning ruefully at her own stupidity, she turned and raced up the ramp for the third time, Jefferson right behind her. The two Minutemen she had rescued from the office, fell in behind them, their power armor clanking like turrets in desperate need of repair. Sam Mays, and Panner Forsythe, a new recruits from The Slog, fell in behind them. 

BADADADADADADA! GFOOM!

A grenade took out the turret Christine had been watching for chugging ahead. She stopped short.

Who had taken it out? Christine glanced behind her. Jefferson, Mays, Jun, Panner, and James. Exactly who she had entered the building with. Maybe it was Cait and Danse? Or at least Cait? She doubted it. Whoever it was, was being too quiet to be her hot-tempered friend. 

She advanced cautiously. 

Ahead, she saw a person in Minuteman power armor impatiently waiting for them. Ignoring the Cryolater pointed directly at him, he strode directly up to the General. 

“Why aren’t you in your power armor, Christine?” He growled. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

She fought against Cain’s low, rough voice tingling through her body. 

He doesn’t want me. He told me not to come in. I need to stop forcing myself into his life.

She pushed the thoughts away. “How did you get up here? You didn’t come past me.”

“Raider fortifications outside. There were three more Forged on the roof gangways. I took care of them. Get into your power armor. The blast forge is up ahead.”

“How do you know that? You’ve been here before?”

“I’ve been many places, Christine. Put on the god damn armor.”

His posture became guarded as he watched a mischievous smile creep across her face. 

“Christine, don’t-“

“I can wear yours. Hop out and I’ll put it on. I promise.”

If he could have, Cain would have torn out his hair in frustration. He settled for gritting his teeth. He reached for her. “Christine! I swear to-“

His eyes narrowed as her gun came up again, pointed at his chest.

“Don’t grab me. Don’t boss me around. That’s not your place.”

She turned to Jefferson. “I need my armor. Wait over there with Jun and the others. If we’re not who comes out of that door when the shooting stops, run.”

“Ma’am? You’re going in alone?” 

“No, my friend”, she stressed the word. “Is with me. Please. Trust me.”

He hesitated. Casting a warning look at the General’s guard, Jefferson reluctantly exited the armor. He turned to her one last time, pleading for her to reconsider. “General, Christine, please-“

The armor hissed closed around her. “I’ve changed my mind...”

All six men breathed a sigh of relief. 

She continued. “…I want the five of you to leave now. I don’t want you anywhere near here if this goes south. Protect the Finch farm. Fire that flare gun in my pack if you need help, and more Minutemen will come.”

Without another word, she turned and climbed the steps to the blast furnace. Her guard leaped to follow.

Jefferson watched the door clang shut behind them, and snorted. He turned to his companions. “I don’t know about you, but there’s no way in hell I’m leaving.”

Jun and James nodded their heads in agreement. 

“We’re terrible Minutemen,” James said with a grin.

“Yep. Lousy.”

“Can’t follow orders worth a damn.”

“The worst. I feel just terrible about that.”

Panner watched the men banter, praising each other’s insubordination. “So… we aren’t going to follow her orders? We’re not leaving? Won’t she get mad?“

Laughing, Jun patted the young ghoul on the shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out. Have a seat, son.”

*

Faust collided with the most frightening nightmares of her childhood in the blast furnace, an inferno of blistering red heat, a hideous rendering of hell’s depths, inciting a growing terror in even the most craven and depraved souls. Scorching metal gangways rose through the shimmering waves of heat surrounding her, peopled with Hell’s elite- the Forged.

Seven pairs of deranged, fevered, glowing eyes bored into Christine, burnt holes in crimson faces scarred almost to the bone. Blackened armor, thick, charred gloves, heads whose hair had been seared in a religious, devoted frenzy into their scalps, and heavy boots fanged with shreds of sharp metal loomed above her, demons with fiery weapons held low, the smoking flags of tribute to their king.

Holding aloft a flaming sword, their ruler stood above a huge pot of seething, bubbling molten steel, a mirage in power armor proudly blackened and befouled in the fires he worshipped, vilified with jagged wire grating, and human parts. Eyes, ears, and fingers shriveled with the heat held court across his chest. A pair of small, baby’s hands spread on his shoulders, gruesome epaulets that drove Christine to a thick, cold madness all her own.

You bleed. You die. I know how to stop you.

Illuminated before the haze of the incandescent steel, Jake Finch stood defiantly between the leader of the Forged, and a weeping, ragged man on his knees.

“Well look who’s here. Took you long enough…Geeennneraaaal.” The way the man said it left no doubt that he meant it as insultingly as possible.

Christine snorted. “What the hell are you supposed to be? An ’80 rock diva, or maybe the God of Broken Pokey Metal Things? You look ridiculous. Like a junkyard mated with a porcupine. Who’s your boss? Because you sure as hell aren’t in charge.”

“I’M THE BOSS!” The man’s scars flared as his face reddened. “AND YOU MADE A HUGE MISTAKE COMING HERE-“

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Something going to die horribly something something pain something blah blah blah. Gotta work on your evil villain small talk, sweetheart.”

“Christine,” Cain said in an undertone, “are you trying to get him angry on purpose?” 

She threw him a look. 

Even though the power armor helmet hid her face, he could tell her god damn evil smile was working its slow way across her face.

“General, you’ve got a lot to learn about the Forged.” The flamboyant, metal-clad figure on the platform waved his flaming sword menacingly, and turned his attention to two men in front of the cauldron. 

“Kill that prisoner and prove you’re not completely useless, Jake-“

Christine cut in. “Jake, Abraham sent me to bring you home. And your grandfathers sword. I’m guessing that’s what the Tin Psycho Fairy up there is holding?”

Jake ignored her. “You said we’d be raiding outside of the Commonwealth, Slag. These people aren’t even a threat to us,” he said in a trembling voice.

“Please help me!” The frightened, tattered settler on his knees behind Jake, pleaded. “They’re going to kill me.”

“Jake! Prove to me you can kill! It’s him or you!” Slag threatened.

Jake’s face paled. “But I brought you everything you asked for!”

“Stealing things from your family farm doesn’t prove your strength, boy. If you aren’t strong enough to kill, then you aren’t worth our time. Now do it!”

Christine’s clear undertone cut straight to Jake’s ears. “Walk away, Jake. You don’t have to do this.”

“But General, if I don’t they’ll kill my family!”

“Jake, the only thing you need to do is save that settler. Do it right now. Right. Now.” 

With no more warning than that, she opened fire on the Forged.

Two raiders fell dead before they even realized what was happening, with cryo rounds in their frozen heads. Cain pulled out his hand cannon and shot a raider who had quickly recovered her wits and was firing up her flamethrower. He stepped in front of Jake and the settler to protect them, and buy them time while Christine continued her rampage. 

She bounded up a ramp, turned the corner, and ran up another. A raider hurtled a molotov at her, followed quickly by a second, and a third. Christine laughed, and charged.

She was no angel, she grinned evilly, and those wings aren’t made from feathers, they’re flames. She was hellspawn, come to take these heathens back where they belonged. They would burn no more settlements, kill no more people. She would make sure of that right now.

The Forged screamed at the apparition coming at her in flaming power armor, and attacked. Ranting, slavering gibberish spewed from the raider’s lips as her flames enveloped Christine. Rearing up through the biting blaze, Christine knocked aside the flamer, and drove her fist, caving in the raider’s chest. Smashing the woman’s skull with her armored heel as she tore past, she rounded another corner.

Burning laser blasts slammed into her from behind, tearing free an armored shoulder plate. Christine spun, snarling.  
“OH YOU WANT TO FUCKING PLAY? FINE! LET’S PLAY!” Yanking up her Cryolater, she dropped to her knees and fired. The Forged’s eyes widened and froze, as two bolts of cryoshot embedded themselves in his neck and face. 

Jake’s fearful shout rocked Christine back around into a ferocious gout of flame. Another molotov exploded against her armor. Christine screamed as the burning liquid seeped through the exposed exoskeleton where her armored shoulder plate had been blown off. Pressing his attack, the Forged advanced on Christine, his flamer concentrated on her vulnerable shoulder.

Christine choked down her screams and concentrated on the words of her friend Rob. Pain happens. Pain always happens, Christine. You decide whether it’ll stop you or not.

It will not stop me. Not today.

Not ever.

Christine dropped her shoulder, and ran directly at the raider. 

The Forged couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The General pounded up the ramp, intense and deadly, her power armor on fire and glowing with the heat. She was glorious. She was the fire he worshipped in human form. His death at her hands would be no death at all. He would live, wreathed in her flames forever.

He turned up his flamer in tribute.

Christine hit him low, burying her shoulder in the Forged’s gut, and driving him over the edge of the metal scaffolding. They crashed to the platform two levels below, where Cain stood protectively in front of the two vulnerable men, a pile of torn flesh, guts, and blood, crowned by a flaming metal demoness. 

Her flames flickered and died. Christine stood, and kicked the smashed body into the huge pot of molten iron. Then she looked up at Slag.

“Well look,” Slag jeered. “Finally someone worth my time.”

“Am I?” Christine advanced on him purposefully. “Am I worth your time? Were those settlers you burned to death worth your time?”

Her boots echoed on the metal grating, a death knell in the sudden hush of the room. “Did you care that someone loved them? Did you care that they had a future? Did you realize their deaths are causing yours? The minute you harmed one of my settlers, you got my undivided attention, and you created the weapon that’s going to destroy you. Me. A very angry Me.”

Slag shook his head, unnerved by her steady, deliberate advance. He took a step back. “Shut up, you fucking bitch! It was just a job!”

She continued to stalk him, an angry, hungry predator. “I know it was. Raiders aren’t clever enough to do the job properly. Where are they, Slag?”

“What do you mean? We did it just fine!”

He glanced nervously at the short distance between himself, and the General as she took another step.

“There were no remains. There would be bones, Slag. There would be something of those people left in the ashes. There was nothing but burned homes. You set those fires to cover kidnapping the settlers. You wanted us to believe they were dead and not come looking for them. This is all too clever for you to have done it. Where are they? Where are my people? Who gave you the job, Slag? Who gave you the job?”

She pulled a pistol from her leg armor and pointed it at his face. “Tell me, Slag.”

Slag took one look at her gun and started laughing. “What? You going to kill me with that? You going to shoot me with a water gun?”

“No, Slag. This time, I fight fire with fire. Tell me.”

“Fuck no, you stupid cunt!”

“I hate that word. Five seconds to live, Slag. One-“

“Did you hear me, Geeennneraaaal? Fuck. No.”

“Two-“

“You’ll find me harder to kill than my crew, bitch-“

“Three-“

“Who do you think sent us, you stupid bitch?! So fucking smart!”

‘Four. Say it, Slag. Say it out loud.”

Christine tensed as a new voice spoke. “B3-14, initialize factory reset Delta 71 Epsilon.”

“Five!” She squirted the water gun directly across the raider’s flaming sword, into his face. He burst into flame.

Then wilted like a broken doll. The sword fell to the metal grating with a dull clang.

Tossing the gasoline-filled water pistol aside, the General sighted her Cryolater on the newcomer.

He stood in the shadows, on the top platform, above Slags burning, unmoving form, his long black coat, black pants and gloves blurred in the dark murkiness surrounding him.

“Gasoline disguised in a non-assuming water gun. Your enemy would let down his guard, and relax, thinking he had overestimated your abilities. You mocked him. You made him angry to remove his focus from the two men, and bring it to you, so they could escape. You attacked without warning, giving the raiders no time to react. Father was correct. You are very intelligent. Resourceful. Unpredictable. A good leader. This will be in my report.” He dropped to the platform below, between Christine, and the burning synth, Slag. 

Christine eyed him warily. “You’re an Institute courser.”

“I am.”

“Son of a bitch!” Christine shot her Cryolater directly at his face. 

He ducked, and suddenly disappeared. Something heavy clanged off her helmet, staggering her. Christine fell to her knees.

Now she was really mad. “STEALTH BOY FUCKING SON OF A CHICKENSHIT BASTARD!” She rolled forward, dropped her Cryolater, and snatched up her water gun, and the flaming sword she had been sent to recover. Still on her back, she sprayed a sweeping arc of gasoline through the fiery blade, back from the direction the blow had come from, an impromptu flamethrower of her own.

A disembodied patch of flames shot up just past her legs.

“HA!” Christine tucked and rolled in her power armor, and levered herself to her feet. Tossing the weapons to the side, she grabbed the Cryolater again, and pumped off her last two shots at the burning Courser. The blazing patch fell to the ground. It instantly became visible as the coursers coat. 

“WOOT! ONE COURSER DOWN!”

Her elation was short-lived, as a monotone voice spoke directly behind her left shoulder.

“Three to transport.”

Christine’s eyes widened as she realized that the courser intended to take her with him. Shoving at the invisible voice/body, she ran.

With a deafening crack of thunder, blue lightning snaked down from the ceiling, engulfing the smoldering remains of Slag, and the man in black. Then they were gone. 

Christine scrubbed at her optics, vainly trying to rub away the negative image of the flash burned into the eyes she couldn’t reach. 

“I can’t see! Cain, Jake, are you guys okay? Cain? Are you here? Did the settler escape? Are they safe?”

She heard movement on the platform behind her. Spinning around, she swung her gauntleted fist.

BLANG!

“Jesus, Christine, it’s just me.” Cain’s low voice cut through the adrenaline still flooding her veins. “Give your eyes a few minutes to adjust.”

“Did Jake and the settler escape? Did you see that? What the hell was that? It was a courser, wasn’t it? From the Institute?”

“Jefferson and the men are escorting them back to the Finch Farm. They’ll wait for you there.”

Still breathing hard, she laughed. “I love my selectively deaf Minutemen.”

She felt Cain take her metal hand. “Stay with me, Christine. I’ll take you out of this heat.”

Falteringly, she allowed him to pull her along, down ramps, across platforms, out the door, then finally up the stairs and onto the roof. Her helmet wobbled as he struggled with the release catch in his armored hands. Cool air washed over her face as he pulled it off. Wonderful, cool, fresh air. A stimpak bit into her neck, above her burned shoulder. He helped her to sit, then lowered his armored form down beside her. 

“Are you alright, Christine?”

She could tell from his tone that he wasn’t asking about her health, or her vision.

A thousand jumbled thoughts crowded her head as she waited for her eyes to readjust, none of them making sense, all of them going nowhere, all of them pointless. 

“The mind makes truth by deciding what is true. Pragmatism.”

“What?”

“Cain, I…I…” 

She tried again. “Cain, I’m sorry I tried to force myself into your home. It was…wrong. I’ve thought about it a great deal over the last few days, and I’m sorry I tried to force myself into your life, too. You’ve been an amazing friend to me, my best friend. Almost as best as Anna. And Cait and Rob. And I almost ruined it by… I’m sorry, Cain. I won’t do it again.”

Cain was flabbergasted. “What? I…you…what? No, I-“.

“It’s okay, Cain. You don’t have to say anything. I’m a big girl. I’ll, um, move my stuff back into my house in Sanctuary. I’ve actually been thinking about moving to Nordhagen Beach, and now seems as good a time as any. Though I should go to the Castle. Preston has been after me forever to catch up on my reports. Ugh, wait. If I live there, he’ll be after me all the time, and I’ll never get a chance to wind down and relax, like I can here. Nope, Nordhagen it is. No wait. Gwen gave me a room in Vault 85. I’ve been filling it up with books as I find them. Sleeping in the middle of my own library sounds like heaven to me.” 

She blinked as her vision finally settled. Wrestling herself to her feet, Christine reached down to help him up. “Let’s go see the Finch’s. I bet they want to join the Minutemen now. And I need to find Deacon. We just went up against a Courser and lived. And it tried to take me back to the Institute with it! Oh my god, I could have gotten into the Institute just now and gotten my people back! Son of a bitch! And he teleported! That’s how they get around! I need to see Deacon now!”

Cain followed her down the ramps to the ground, patiently allowing Christine to stack combat armor and guns in his arms from the fallen Forged. Her mind, mouth, and hands seemed to all be moving at the same speed.

“… knew it had to be the Institute the second Wednesday told me that each settlement the fires happened in, reported finding no evidence of the burned settlers. Shoddy. Got room for another chestplate? Then the Castle asked for help with some raiders who called themselves ‘The Forged’, and I remembered a settler from Hangman’s…no. The Castle? Maybe. Anyway, a settler told me that these Forged worshipped fire, and molten metal…here, this ripper looks to be in pretty good shape. Oooooo look! I think it flames! Anyway, I connected the dots. But what I didn’t understand was what the Forged wanted live settlers for. They could have just killed them right there at the settlements. Damn…broken. Would have been a good gun too. Oh shoot! Did you grab that incendiary laser rifle back at the-“

“Yes, Christine. I figured you would want it.”

She laughed. “You know me so well.”

She sobered suddenly, and they continued their walk to the Finch Farm in silence.

They were almost in sight of the farm when an angry Irish voice shattered the uncomfortable quiet. 

“WHAT TH HELL’S TH MATTER WITH YE?! YE WANTED ME HELP THEN RAN OFF B’FORE I COULD EVEN GET HERE! CHRISTINE MADELINE CHRISTOPHER, I SWEAR-“

Cait came up over the rise and crashed into Christine so hard, they both fell to the ground. Danse appeared a moment behind her. He surveyed the two laughing women lying on the ground in their scuffed, dented armor, with disgust.

“Cait! Have you no respect for your power armor? You’re going to… never mind. You’re not going to listen to me anyway.”

Cait choked her laughter back to a chuckle. “I do listen to ye, big man. I just sometimes don’t agree with ye. Ye have te LIVE in yer armor te make it work. Otherwise, it’s no better than a gun ye only use on Sundays. An if ye can’t fix it, ye shouldn’t be wearin it te begin with.” 

She rolled gracefully to her feet. “See? I’m doin that b’cause I practiced it, an that meant rollin around in me power armor til I could.”

Christine tucked up, then rolled to stand next to her. “Yep. And she showed me. Now with any luck I won’t get stuck on my face with an exploded power core chewing up my back again.”

“Oh!” She turned to Cain. “Thank you for my wings! That was a cool thing to do, when you were cutting the mess off of my back that night. I much prefer it to just a mass of ugly scars. I wish I could see it.”

“You have wings?” Danse looked at her curiously.

“I do. And I’ll show you guys after you do a mission for me. I have to get to Diamond City.”

They turned and ambled down the hill toward Finch Farm. “I’ve been picking up an odd distress call on my Pip-boy from a Vault 88. It seems to be located south-ish of here, around Quincy, I think. Danse, if you and Cait could…” Her voice faded as they walked away.

Cain stared after her.

Someone had seen her wings. Someone had seen Christine’s naked back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter felt kind of slow and windy. Opinions and thoughts?


	37. Holding Back Your Feelings May Save You From Others, But Will Never Save You From Yourself. -unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mysterious Stranger, time to leave, and Cait's burrow

Chapter 37

Goddammit woman! Where’d she go now?!

Cain growled in frustration. Since her discovery that he had been shadowing her to keep her safe since the day she had exited the vault, Christine had become extraordinarily adept at eluding him. It wasn’t that he was coddling her in smothering blankets of over-protectiveness, or trying to keep her from sharpening her skills as a fighter, like she had accused him of. He wasn’t trying to make her paranoid or tense from being under constant surveillance, another of her scathing rebukes. He had told her that he didn’t watch when she had to relieve herself outdoors, something she was oddly squeamish about to begin with, hadn’t he? Everyone did that. They had to. Even Diamond City had only a single outhouse for the comfort of its transient population. 

Outhouse. She had the damndest names for things. He’d always called it The Shitter, like everyone else. 

He stood motionless in the shadows of the treeline, his eyes scouring every inch of his surroundings for her dark power armor. God damn Mama Murphy too, and that concoction she had come up with to burnish Christine’s shiny steel to a hauntingly beautiful smoky coppery-black. In striking contrast, they had left the Minuteman emblem silver. It was elegant, a tasteful way to distinguish the general from the rest of her troops. Not that he wanted her to stick out in any way. It was safer for her to blend in. A more difficult target to track. But she, Garvey, Shaw, and everyone else had loved it. Between her armor, and dancing with Cait, Christine had become a graceful, armored wraith, gliding silently through the shadows, often bringing death to her enemies without them ever seeing her. 

Along with her enemies, it also made her almost invisible to him. Damn, damn, damn, damn, DAMN! 

His head snapped around as screams and shouts punctuated the air. Someone needed help. Chances were that Christine would have heard it too, and be running to the rescue, as she always did. He didn’t think she could even stop herself, she just leapt to the rescue as an automatic reflex. He’d catch up with her there.

But first, he needed to help those people. And Christine would never even know.

Combing the area again, and not finding any soul to see him, Cain retreated further into the trees, and stepped out of his power armor. He yanked a trench coat and battered fedora from the interior thigh pack, and slipped them on. Crouching, his eyes probing every shadow as he crept along, he silently came to where he could assess the disturbance. 

A deathclaw! Odd to see one this close to the city. And it was fighting a provisioner and his team of guards. Minutemen, by the looks, not Cricket or Lucas Miller, or Trashcan Carla.

Despite the magnitude of the attack, the Minutemen had responded exactly as Captain Beckett had trained them to. One provisioner had quickly led the terrified, heavily-laden pack brahmin far from the fight. The rest of the team had circled the deathclaw, confusing its little pea-sized brain with multiple, attacking targets in all directions. Two Minutemen had taken up position at a short distance, sniping across the span with remarkable precision. Cain almost felt sorry for the deathclaw. Almost.

He was pleased at the number of guns being fired all at once. With all of that ruckus, no one would notice his help. He swept the area again for Christine, but strangely she was nowhere in sight. She must have been further ahead of him than he had thought. 

He sighted his heavily-modified hand cannon on the beast’s eye, and fired.

 

The rock tumbled from Christine’s disbelieving hand. She stared, watching Cain join the unaware Minutemen battle the deathclaw. He kept to the shadows. If she hadn’t been watching him to begin with, she wouldn’t have seen him either.

Oh. My. God. Cain was… He… He was…

Cain’s constant vigilance was exhausting. Irritating. Unnerving. Stifling. Determined to circumvent his surveillance, Christine had ninja-ed around him and gleefully turned the tables. And clutched in her determined little hand was a perfectly-perfect- for- throwing- at- his- over-protective- oblivious- head rock. She was going to peg it at his helmet, just as hard as she could, then duck out of sight. The second he turned away again, she just happened to have another perfectly- perfect rock in the other hand for a repeat performance. If she was lucky, she might at least hit his back. Rob had been teaching her how to throw properly, and her progress had been rather hit-or-miss. Har har har.

What she really needed from Cain was some space. It was hard enough to push him from her heart and into the friend zone without him always being around encouraging her, or willing to listen to her cry or rant, or just sit quietly with her.

And how was she supposed to know if she had developed the skill to take out a supermutant with one shot, or had an enemy properly surrounded, or if a battle plan was successful on its own merit, if he insisted on hiding in the shadows and backing her up? She didn’t need a damn babysitter. 

Right as she had been about to loose her hard little missile at his back, Cain had stepped out of his armor, and put on the exact disguise Eli and Rob had told her the Mysterious Stranger wore! Then he had snuck into the fight, to help where no one could see him.

Cain was… Cain was the Mysterious Stranger! Her best friend and pesky guardian was the Mysterious Stranger. 

She barely stifled her laughter. Poor Rob was going to be so disappointed.

 

Cain congratulated himself on another successful unseen mission to help the people of the Commonwealth, as he jogged back to his armor. The deathclaw was dead, and other than some scuffs, no one had been hurt. Time to go find his wayward girl.

He stopped short. Someone was standing by his armor. As he peered more closely, he recognized the smoky black armor of Christine.

Fuck.

She was standing with her back to him, her head bowed, one metal hand resting on the chest of his armor. 

He approached cautiously. “Don’t turn around, Christine.”

She didn’t move.

He stood directly behind her, and reached for her arm. “I can explain-“. He stopped abruptly.

Her power armor was empty.

“Your turn to not turn around, Cain. And I really, really want to hear what you have to say. Really, REALLY, really want to.”

Her voice came from somewhere behind him. She sounded like she was laughing.

Fuckity-fuck fuck FUCK, as Christine was fond of saying when she found herself in an unexpectedly compromising position. Those words he had no trouble following at all.

“So you’ve seen my face.”

“Nope.” A small rock flew past him. “I don’t break promises, Cain. Why do you think I put my armor there, then sat back here? I could see your very nice boots approach, then close my eyes until I heard you at the armor. Put it on so we can talk, and I don’t have to sit here with my eyes closed.”

“Your eyes are closed right now?”

“I was pretty sure when you heard a voice behind you, your reflex would be to turn. Just playing it safe.”

“Safe?! If I hadn’t recognized your voice, I would have shot you! So you kept your eyes closed? They’re still closed?”

“Of course.”

He shook his head. “You are one trusting individual. Keep them shut.”

Christine listened intently as his footsteps approached. He rustled around behind her, then she felt his strong, warm back lean against her own. She struggled to control the flips her idiotic heart insisted on doing.

“Okay, you can open them now.”

Christine kept her eyes closed, savoring the feel of his touch. “Anytime you’re ready, I’m listening, stranger.”

Cain snorted. He took a deep breath. 

“Christine, I think I’ve already told you that I haven’t led the most virtuous life…”

“Um hmm.”

“Well… I… I…”

“I’m listening.” She laughed. “I am soooo listening.”

“I… I… You’re not making this easy, you know. “

Cain wasn’t sure where to even begin. What could he tell her that wouldn’t take a knife to what was left of their relationship? That he had been sent on a kill mission, and in searching through the murdered man’s things for the holotape his employer wanted, had come across the trench coat, fedora, and a journal with entry after entry of rescues this man had pulled off anonymously? That the entries had gone back almost a hundred years, the mantle of the mysterious stranger being passed down from grandfather to father to son to grandson, until he, an assassin, had ended their selfless mission with a bullet? That only two weeks before, he had found her asleep in her cryobed, and had believed he might be the kind of person she would like, if he stepped into the legacy, and continued the work of these men, realizing only after she had awoken, that he could never tell her? That saving people helped him feel like he was atoning for his past sins against the Commonwealth, and everywhere else he had plied his trade? That only after sixty years of being the mysterious stranger, then fighting by her side, he had begun to feel like he could be that man, the one she would like? That he was just now, finally starting to feel he could be worthy of her? 

He felt her shift against his back. “Cain?”

No. She had given up on him. She would never see him as anything but a friend now anyway. He would continue his work as the mysterious stranger, because she would like that, but his confession to her would always be tainted. He could not tell her the truth. Not the whole truth, at least.

“Christine, I saw the mysterious stranger killed, and thought his mission should go on, that the people of the Commonwealth needed to believe someone was watching out for them. So I just took over. I figure someday, someone will show me they’d be a better mysterious stranger than I can, and I’ll drop off the jacket and hat and journal, and they can have the job.”

“That’s it? That’s the whole story of the Mysterious Stranger?”

“Yep. Close your eyes while I get into my armor.”

Christine felt cheated. “Eyes are closed. Cain, how long have you been at it? How do you know where to be? How do you keep from being seen? I mean, no one has ever seen you? Ever? How can no one possibly know it was you? You have a journal? Wait a minute. Did you save me when Rob and I took out the gunners on the interchange?”

“Good grief, Chris. Yes. I saved you. And you’re an impulsive idiot, so I’ve saved you a couple dozen times since then. Your Minutemen sure aren’t taking care of you. Why do you think I keep making observations and suggestions about their training?”

He grinned at her silence, as the power armor closed around him. “Okay, you can open your eyes. For the record, I also saved your butt a fair number of times before you got onto your feet, before you started the Minutemen.”

“Oh. “

Cain watched her climb into her black armor. He frowned. She was being unusually quiet. 

“Christine-“

“Cain, have you ever lied to me?”

What?! What a thing to ask now. 

“Yes. I have.”

“Why?”

Jesus Christ she was killing him. What the hell was her clever little brain chewing on now? He didn’t know what to say. 

Taciturn by nature, he spoke rarely, and only when he needed to. He relied more on his ability to convey exactly what he meant in his expressions. One glower from him sent most people running. But she couldn’t see his face, so he had to find the right words. Even the most frantic of scrambling around his brain turned up nothing. There was no saving this one.

“Someday, I’ll tell you. Until then, you’ll just have to trust me.” 

He watched as she turned away. Damn it. He had screwed up again. Again and again and again. He was getting sick of his bullshit himself. Any minute now, she was going to tell him to get out of her life. That he wasn’t worth the trouble he brought her.

“Chris, don’t tell anyone I’m the stranger, okay?”

“Of course I won’t. I want the people of the Commonwealth to believe in miracles too.” She set off toward Diamond City. “Besides, Rob would be crushed. He eats those stories of the Mysterious Stranger up like his comics of Grognak. To find out the Stranger was a mere mortal? I think a little piece of him would die.”

Noticing that he wasn’t following her, she turned back. “Get a move on, old man. Friends I don’t even know yet are waiting for me.”

Cain was dumbfounded. Yet again, she had accepted his idiocy with patience and understanding. 

“Says the three-hundred-year-old woman. How do you know I’m old?”

They began walking.

“Most of the things you say sound like they come from long experience. Unless you’ve lived an incredibly exciting life in a very short amount of time, I’m guessing you’re older than me. Forties maybe?”

“I’m older than twenty-four. Stop fishing for information. And Christine, did you throw a rock at me?”

Christine laughed. “Nope. Mysterious stranger, all the way.”

“Mysterious stranger threw it, or you threw it at the Mysterious Stranger?

“No habla engleez, senor.”

She ignored his baffled silence. 

“Cain, this old woman has an apartment in Diamond City, if you’d… umm…like to stay with me. I’ve actually never been in it. Rob and I came to town to talk to Dr. Sun, and this crazy reporter named Piper talked me into buying it. Well, she’s only a little crazy. Daring, determined, brilliant, brave…I like her. So now I have a home away from home, someplace to hide when too many people are making demands of the General.”

“You have places all over the Commonwealth. Every settlement, the Castle, Vault 111, Vault 81, all of your little caches… What do you need another place for?”

“This is my place, Cain. I can close the door, turn off my pip-boy, and listen to the quiet. No one telling me to save a settler, or clear a place, or write up reports, or train, or plan… I can just sit, and read, and breathe. I might just move here. Be me, and just relax for a few freaking minutes.” She cast a sideways glance at him. “Go to the bathroom in peace.”

A smile tweaked the corner of his mouth. “And have no one watching you. It’s okay. I get it. I understand.”

They continued to walk along in silence, until Diamond City came into view.

Diamond City. In Christine’s time, it had been Fenway Park, a baseball stadium usually packed to the nosebleed seats with rabid Red Sox fans. Her brother Christian had been one of those diehards. His bedroom had been plastered with posters of the entire team, including some humorous memorabilia signed by the waterboys, and groundskeepers. Some of pictures had been signed by the players themselves. Her mother had taught Christine to crochet, and Christians bed had proudly sported the most lovingly-given, badly-made homemade bedspread in sports history, the red, white, and blue Red Sox emblem crooked, and dragging decidedly down on the right. But it had been made just for him by his little sister, and all of its flaws made him love it even more. 

Christine smiled. Her brother was such a softy. 

“So Cain, will you-“

“I need to check on a few things while I’m in Diamond City too. I’ll catch up.”

“But you don’t know which apartment is mine.”

“Yes, I do.” 

“Hey! How do you know where I… ” Christine watched him peel off and disappear into the crowd. 

“I’ve been lots of places, Christine,” she mimicked, stomping off.

Sticking her key into the lock, she entered her new apartment.

Egad. What a mess. 

She grinned. Sure would be nice if the Mysterious Stranger would magically show up and help her clean out this dump.

 

Five hours, and six loads of crap sold to Crazy Myrna later, it was ungodly-o’clock in the morning when Christine looked around her home with satisfaction. A couch, stove, table, and two chairs with uneven legs made a cozy living area. The chairs were a bonus, Myrna had stressed. Two rocking chairs for the price of two kitchen chairs. Christine had burst out laughing at the very offended shopkeeper, but given Myrna additional caps for ingenuity. She had more than enough anyway, and Myrna could use the extra money. 

Her rickety bed was pushed against the wall on the second floor platform, so it wouldn’t stand lopsided and roll her off onto the floor in her sleep. On the topmost platform was her tub, sink, and toilet. She didn’t even want to know where that plumbing flowed to.

A couple of old crates made fair end tables and a night stand, and two clean-ish sleeping bags were rolled up under her bed. All in all, a good evening’s work, and the results were better than she had expected. She should invite Piper over for a drink or two. Piper seemed like a fun person, and Christine sorely needed a girl’s night to cut loose.

Piper! A clever, knowledgeable reporter! If anyone in Diamond City would know something about the Institute, it would be Piper!

Christine ran for the door. She had to talk to Piper! Now!

She threw open the door, and crashed full tilt into a very big, very solid suit of power armor. The metal hand that had been about to knock, snatched her arm before she could fall backward onto the floor.

“Jesus, Christine, slow down! You’re going to hurt… Good grief, woman, what have you done now?” Cain carefully lowered Christine’s unconscious form to the floor. After making sure she was breathing evenly, he parked his armor, then carried her up to her bed, and hit her with a stimpak.

Cain gently brushed her hair out of her face, noticing another, almost healed bruise far up on her cheekbone, and a newly-healed scar in her hairline. How she had survived this long, he didn’t know. She was always bleeding somewhere, or had a bandage falling off, or new bruises. She never walked if she could run, she flopped to the ground instead of kneeling, stood abruptly, turned abruptly… She had more in common with that great clumsy dog Sammi, than any human being. Come to think of it, he was pretty sure she had gotten that bruise on her cheekbone when she had been wrestling with Sammi and Dog, and crashed into the slide, in the playground at Sanctuary.

“Cain…?” 

He froze, dropping the rag he had been wiping the blood from the fading welt on her forehead with, and leaned back into the shadows. 

“Christine, don’t-“

“S’okay,” she said muzzily, placing her hand against his chest. “Umm not looking. You’re so ummm… weird about… that.” Her hand fumbled across his face. “You have a… big nose… or something? A third eye… eye? That’s supposed to be a… good thing, you know.”

He grabbed her wandering hand, and pressed it against the bed. “No. My nose is fine. Just add it to the list of things I’ll tell you about someday.”

“S’getting to… be… an awfully long list.” She rolled over onto her stomach. “What uhh… time is it? I’m… need… to see Piper…. umm… Piper’ll… she… uh… mmm…”

Cain smiled. She was asleep. 

He settled his back against the headboard and closed his eyes. 

*

Traces of the coming dawn filtered down through the open trapdoor to the roof, and softly caressed Christine’s cheekbone. Cain watched the faint light slide to her lips as she shifted in her sleep. 

It was time to go. 

This day had stalked him, a single-minded predator determined to end his life, his futile attempts, and his hopeless dreams, since the moment he had seen her lying in her cryobed. It’s breath had always been hot upon the back of his neck, its voice growling the memories of every person he had killed, and every moment he had spent causing another’s suffering, always there, always just a step behind. No matter what he did to right his wrongs, no matter how much he wanted her to love him, no matter how many years he had spent trying to convince himself that he could ever have a normal life with her, the shadow of his former life would always be right behind him, clinging to him, as real as the shade his physical body cast on the woman sleeping soundly on the bed next to him.

Sprawled out on her stomach, the long line from her hand stretched above her head, down to her toes dangling off the end of the bed, should be lying along his side, her cheek and palm should be resting on his chest, not the pillow. Her leg should be thrown over his thighs, not the mattress. That’s where she fit. That’s where she belonged. 

It would never happen now. Her hunt for the Institute would take her places he didn’t want to go. He couldn’t go. There was just too much… It was time to leave.

He set the note on her nightstand, and left, the shadows following closely as he shut the door behind him.”

*

“This is an emergency broadcast signal from Vault 88. Authentication codeword IMPISH. Vault 88 emergency classification: unspecified integrity breach warning. Any available Vault-Tec personnel are required to respond under Emergency Protocol VT-76. This signal will repeat………….. This is an emergency broadcast signal from Vault 88… “

“Hey! That one was mine!” 

Cait swung her gun from the fallen feral ghoul, to Danse’s face. “Ye keep stealin me kills, it’ll be a sure bet I might ‘accidentally’ shoot ye somewhere.”

“Oh, ‘accidentally’, huh? In the face? Why do you keep pointing your damn gun in my face anyway? And shut off Christine’s pip-boy. It’s driving me crazy.” Danse scanned the muddy wash they stood in for more foes, but none were in sight, save the queen mirelurk pacing in the distance.

“Oh no, big man. I see ye lookin at her. We already took out that sentrybot by th whatever memorial, an all o’ th supermutants at th toy factory. I’m too tired te take on th raiders that keep infestin Quincy, an I sure as hell don’t want te take on a queen mirelurk. We been workin our way te th Vault in th signal fer two days, killin everythin along th way. Ye can keep on fer days, but I don’t have a Brotherhood battery shoved up me arse, so I’m goin te sleep. An eat. I’m starvin.” She gestured toward the door blocking the culvert pipe that had been her goal. “Unless someone else has been in there an not replaced what they took, everythin we need is in this burrow. An Chris pointed out te me that lots o’ people wear armor, but their face is usually unprotected. Better chance for a kill on th first shot. Just have te work on yer aim more.”

“Understood.” Danse looked at the muddy water that covered the bottom eighth of the door with distaste. “We’re going to sleep in six inches of water? Our power armor is going to rust.”

“Don’t be such a baby.” Cait shouldered her gun, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. Reluctantly, he followed.

Inside, Danse looked around in surprise. The cement floor rose considerably above the slop outside the door. Cait’s burrow was snug and dry.

She lit a lantern. Divesting herself of her gun, pack, and armor, and switching off Christine’s pip-boy, Cait collapsed to the lumpy, threadbare couch, and closed her eyes. She gestured blindly into the darkness. “There’s another couple o’ candles and the like back there. Help yerself.”

Not hearing him move, she opened one eye. 

He was crouched in full defensive mode, scanning the room as he would an enemy stronghold. He stealthily advanced into the burrow, his eyes probing the shadows, his armor quietly clanking with every step.

She chuckled. “Danse, this is a burrow. A cache, as Chris is callin it. If it wasn’t a safe hidey-hole, we’d never have used it. Ye can creep around if it’s makin ye feel better, but ye won’t find a thing te harm ye. Molerats can’t get through th cement floor, an th walls are solid cement too, so no radroaches. No way anythin bigger can get in. Ye got te relax sometime, Danse.”

“I appreciate your faith in your refuge, but a good soldier scouts his surroundings before relaxing his guard. I won’t take any chances, especially with your safety.”

Cait closed her eye. “Yer a good leader, Paladin. If ye could kill and skin me a box o’ those vicious snack cakes back there, I’d be happy te eat it.”

Ignoring her sarcastic remark, Danse continued his assessment of the space.

It was surprisingly well-stocked. A workbench outfitted for weapon and armor repairs stood below shelves crammed with tools of all kinds. Three chairs were grouped around a small table, near a compact little cook stove, and a fridge full of food and drink. Thick pallets and clean sleeping bags were packed into trunks in the far corner, but near enough to the stove to keep warm on colder nights. Cait was stretched out on the only couch, but two mended, overstuffed chairs flanked her, two trunks between them and the couch. One trunk was filled with various weapons, the other full to the brim with ammo. Three full medical kits were attached to the wall, one over another, beside a mirror behind a partition that also hid a sink, toilet, and bucket.

“There’s no running water, so ye have te scoop water from outside te flush th loo, but I’m workin on it.”

Danse relaxed. This burrow of Cait’s was safe. And supplied better than most of the homes he had seen in the Commonwealth. Even better than his police station. It was a remarkable find.

“This is a Minuteman cache? How many of these are there? Are they all over the Commonwealth, or just in specific places? Are they all like this? Where did you get all of these supplies?”

Cait groaned. “Ye really don’t understand ‘tired an hungry’, do ye? Yer goin te be th death o’ me, big man.”

She waved her hand again. “We have some thirteen-ish burrows, all over the Commonwealth. They’re meant fer emergencies, and as safe places te crash or hide if yer needin that. An they all have th basics- food, water, medical kit, ammo, blankets, spare weapons and th like. This one is especially well done, b’cause it’s sort o’ mine”

“How is it yours?”

“I kinda adopted it. It’s th furthest one out, an in a swamp, so at first Chris was against botherin with the space, but I fixed it up an impressed her. I keep on bringin stuff, and clearin, an fixin. A few more things I want to be doin, an I will. But not tonight.”

She pulled herself up and staggered over to the kitchen area. “Wish th fridge was more than jes a food lock box, an actually kept th beer cold,” she muttered, rummaging around inside. 

“AAAAAK!” She almost swallowed her tongue when she was scooped up from behind, and tossed onto the couch. 

“Go back to ‘tired’, and I’ll work on the ‘hungry’ part.” Danse parked his power armor, and headed for the kitchen, flipping the radio on as he passed. It had been ages since he’d had a quiet moment to cook for himself, and he planned on enjoying it. 

Cooking had always been one of his favorite things, one he’d had to put on the back burner for too long. He chuckled at his mental pun. The kitchen was wonderfully stocked with pans and bowls and wooden mixing spoons, and plenty of food. And he had someone to cook for, someone to share his enthusiasm with. He felt energized. Singing quietly to himself so as not to wake Cait, he started slicing up meat and vegetables.

The smell of simmering food pulled Cait from the couch and into the kitchen, quick as if old Ronnie at the Castle had been hauling on her ear.

A smug grin crossed Cait’s face. Ronnie had only done that to her once. Once. And it had been a damn good thing Wednesday had been there teaching a combat medic class. Of course Ronnie had been pretty angry when she had come to, and discovered she had become the practice body for the class, but she had deserved it. No one touched Cait without her express permission. And she didn’t give that often. 

She might give permission to Danse though. 

Sitting on the edge of the table, Cait watched Danse putter happily around the kitchen. He flipped a spoon in one hand, stirred whatever was in the saucepan, then danced his way to the trash can, and tossed an empty bottle into it behind his back. 

For the millionth time since she had met him, Cait marveled at the wonderful man Danse was. His physique was very attention-getting, but she delighted in the HIM. The Himness of him. The way he constantly put himself physically between her and danger, and the way he stepped back when she yelled about it. How he listened to her thoughts and suggestions, his fury that Dane had forced himself on her, his respect for her person and her privacy when the fight was over. How he had halted the instant he felt her hand on his arm. How he smiled when she caught him looking at her. When he had passed her the tiny flower that had been poking out from between the chunks of sidewalk by the Customs House. His warm, gentle hands pulling her from the wall at the police station. The panic on his face when Riley wouldn’t let go. His joking and teasing. She even loved his pompous Brotherhood blathering-

“May I have this dance, Miss Cait?” he said, bowing low before her. 

His courtesy. His sense of fun. The delight that sparkled in his eyes as she accepted his invitation with a hammy curtsy of her own.

“I would be delighted to dance with ye, kind sir. Mind me toes, now.”

“I would never harm a hair on your head, let alone the toes on your feet.” He swept her into a wide spin, and twirled her under his arm. Holding her close, he danced her around the kitchen, singing along to the radio.

“Don’t be afraid ‘cause I’ll do you no harm

I want you to bring along my rockin shoes, 

‘Cause tonight I’m gonna rock away all our blues

I heard the news, there’s good rockin tonight…” 

Cait laughed breathlessly as he swung her away, directly at the wall. At the last second, he spun her back, clamped her body firmly to his, and dancing around, spun her out in the other direction toward the fridge. She closed her eyes as it came nearer and nearer, sure she’d get a broken nose from the deal. They flew open again as she was snatched back into his muscular arms. 

The music switched to a slower tune.

“I don’t want to set the world on fire

I just want to start a flame in your heart

In my heart I have but one desire

And that one is you, no other will do…”

Cait closed her eyes, and rested her cheek against Danse’s chest, feeling the rumble as he sang softly along with the song. 

Nothing in her life had ever prepared her for this, this feeling. Cared for. Special. Accepted. Wanted. Enjoyed. Chosen. Cherished. 

Loved.

Not Lex, not Tommy, and certainly not her parents, or the Boss. It was very, very different from the love and acceptance she received from Christine, and the wonderful people she had met through her friend, too. It was like that sort of, but private. More intense, and from deeper within herself. Her big man was politely knocking on the wall she had built around the softest, most vulnerable place in her heart, the most heavily fortified corner of her soul. He was asking if she was in there. Asking if he could come in too. 

*

“What does love feel like?” she had asked Christine, as the two of them had snuggled under the covers of Cait’s bed not long ago, sharing girlish confidences late into the night.

Christine had taken a long time to answer. Long enough that Cait had grown light-headed from holding her breath, waiting. 

“I’m not really sure. I’ve had boyfriends before, some I’ve felt pretty serious about-“

“Serious how?”

“I liked them enough to spend lots of time with them. To consider what a future with them would be like. One of them, I even wondered what our children would be like, and if he would have been a good father. He actually asked me to marry him. But I turned him down. Something was missing, though for the life of me, I can’t find the words for it. It’s the thing that makes the difference between Serious and Love. A fitting together feeling. Not like the cut edges of puzzle pieces snapping in place, but more like… a smooth blending. Like Abbot’s paint for the walls in Diamond City. I was a thick swath of yellow paint going one direction, he was blue coming at me from the other direction. When we hit, we came together in a bluish yellowish greenish blob. Green, but not the right green. We were supposed to smooth together from yellow, to yellow-green, to green, to green-blue, to blue, and back. But a nice blending. Not specific colored chunks.” She yanked the blanket up over her face. “I’m saying this all wrong. That was a lousy example. I’m sorry. Do you understand what I mean though?”

“Kinda. I think. Maybe. Sort of. What’s th difference between sex an makin love?”

The blanket came back down. “Okay, I got this one. Sex is just a thing you do. Making love is when you love someone.”

“Can ye make love if th other person doesn’t love ye back? Can ye make love and they’ll be only havin sex?”

“Uhhhhhhh…” The blanket came up over Chris’s face again. She thought about Gage, and how he had kept remarking on how good they would be together. How he had snuggled her close, like he had wanted her to feel cared for and safe- not at all what she had ever expected from a raider. And the very un-raider-like way he had woken her up. Softly. Gently. Raiders took what they wanted. He should have been rough, demanding, but Gage had wanted her to enjoy what they were doing. To want him. She had been having fun, cathartic sex. He had been making love. 

She was such a shit. 

“I… think so? I don’t... Dang it, Cait. I’m sorry.”

They lay there in silence for a while. Cait pulled the blanket over her head and joined her friend underneath. 

“Chris, I’m going to make love someday. To someone who loves me back.”

“Promise?”

“What do ye mean, Promise? I WILL!”

“Don’t yell at me! I want you to! I want you to find the man who’ll love you like you’re supposed to be loved. And I don’t want you to freak out if he wants to touch your body. Your personal body has been hurt by enough men. I want you to know this man loves you, and will respect your body and your wishes if you say No. I want the perfect man to find you. Life is so fragile out here in the Commonwealth. You can’t keep waiting, and holding back. When you know he’s the one, don’t hold back, Cait.”

“I WON’T HOLD BACK!”

“OKAY!”

They lay there in silence under the blanket, each lost in their own thoughts.

“Chris? I’m afraid.”

The raider made love. Cain turned her away. Christine was so confused.

“It’s okay. I am too.”

*

Danse held Cait closer, and rested his chin on her head. She was so soft, so sweet, so fiery and spirited, so… perfect. She felt like a dream in his arms. She smelled of bullets, power armor grease, and wild squash blossoms. 

He wanted more. If he asked for permission, would she throw another rock at him? 

He smiled widely and held her closer. She could throw every rock in the Commonwealth at him, and he’d take it proudly, then ask her again. 

He thought of the hundreds of female soldiers who had tried to get his attention, cooing over him, and petting his arm when they found some excuse to talk to him, but he hadn’t wanted a single one. If they could have just keep their hands to themselves, he wouldn’t have had to wear his power armor all the time. And none of them had even interested him a little. But he never wanted to let this red-haired woman, with eyes greener and more true than the walls in Diamond City, go. He would be happy…honored to hold her in his arms forever.

He caressed her back, and tenderly kissed her hair. Cupping her cheek, his thumb gently traced the contours of her cheekbone, jaw, and lips. His other hand ran through her beautiful sunset hair. He tilted her head up, and lowered his head toward her lips.

Cait panicked. “I…I…BURNIN!” She shoved away from Danse’s body, and ran for the stove. She grabbed a pan, and shook it energetically, as if it had been in danger of being ruined if she hadn’t saved it. 

“Cait?” Danse was confused. “I turned it off before I asked you to dance. The food’s been ready for a while now. Are you okay?”

“There.” Cait continued on as if he hadn’t even spoken. “I’ll set the table. Go wash yer hands.”

Danse took one of her cold hands. “Cait, what’s wrong? I’m sorry if I-“

Cait yanked her hand back. She jumped into her power armor, cursing it’s slowness to close. Grabbing Spray and Pray, she ran for the door. “I’LL BE TAKIN FIRST WATCH!”

The door slammed behind her, leaving a very bewildered Danse standing in his kitchen, wondering what had just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took so long. Life got sad. Moving on. Looking for feedback, as always.


	38. Hope is the Only Thing Stronger Than Fear -unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The courage of a provisioner, hiccups and walls, interrupted research, rain, Danny hates his job
> 
> Heads up- wee bit of smutocity

Chapter 38

“Aaaaaaaahh! Godaaaaaaaaamaaah!”

BADADADADADA DADADADADA!

Cait’s agonized screams cut through Danse’s confusion in a second. Snatching up his laser rifle, he leaped into his power armor and bolted from the burrow.

“CAIT!”

“AAAAADANSE! RUN!”

Caustic queen mirelurk fluid bathed his armor from behind. He spun, and was horrified by what he saw.

Cait was pinned against the rotting hulk of an ancient truck. The queen mirelurk they had seen prowling in the distance as they had entered the burrow, had advanced, and was now almost on top of Cait, chemical lava spewing forcefully from her sharp beak onto Cait’s rapidly disintegrating power armor. 

Cait screamed again and tried to fire Spray and Pray into the queen’s vulnerable underbelly, but it dripped through her melting metal gauntlets in chunks that grew smaller and less cohesive as they fell. Her screaming reached a new pitch as the casing of the grenade she had pulled the pin on dissolved, and exploded in the remains of her metal hand.

“HEY! HEY! LOOK HERE BEAST!!” Danse yelled at the queen, trying to pull her attention from the Cait. He threw a grenade into the mud behind the beast, and away from the injured woman. It exploded in a violent gush of muck and debris, tearing off a plate of the mirelurks lower carapace. An ear-splitting trumpeting shriek burst from the queen, and she changed direction, focusing on Danse with deadly purpose. From all directions, smaller mirelurks rushed to her rescue.

“GET IN THE MUD CAIT! GET UNDER THE TRUCK!” He saw her slump, but couldn’t tell if she had heard him, or had fallen unconscious. Or dead.

“CAIT!” Danse cranked his laser rifle up to full intensity. It was his latest, though untested modification to his weapon, and would consume his fusion cells twice as fast, but it would deliver a payload twice as devastating as its previous capability. At this point he didn’t care if he ran out of ammo. He’d attack the mirelurks bare naked if that’s what it took to save Cait.

A red, white, and blue flare shot into the sky, followed by another, and another. Danse jerked his eyes from the fast-approaching queen, to see a king mirelurk and a killclaw change direction and arrow in on a provisioner, who gave up trying to holster his flare gun, and struggled to drag his terrified pack brahmin in the other direction, toward Quincy. The queen veered from her pursuit of Danse, to this new, larger morsel.

Danse’s legendary courage and instincts kicked into overdrive.

He ran parallel to the provisioner, firing at the queen until her attention was fully on him again, then switched his sights to the king, who was almost upon the provisioner.

The king mirelurk squealed in rage and pain, and charged toward his new attacker. Danse switched his aim to the killclaw. He felt the side of his armor heat up as the queen sprayed her deadly vomit. 

He bellowed a command to the petrified provisioner, who had stopped yanking on the brahmin’s halter, and was gaping at the killclaw still bearing down on him. “RUN, MAN! LEAVE THE BEAST! RUN!” 

He clamped his teeth together against the pain of caustic liquid seeping through his weakening armor, and continued to ignore the queen, focusing his fire on the killclaw until it too was chasing him. Danse altered his course to lead the mirelurks away from the vulnerable provisioner, and toward the town. Another excruciating bolt of fire shot up his leg. The queen was catching up with him.

Bullets shot down around him and pinged off of his power armor, a tinny serenade to the taunts and threats of the raiders of Quincy. The queen mirelurk screamed again, her strident soprano punctuating the heavy chuff of his breathing as he ran, and the blood pounding through Danse’s heart. He was struck anew by the deadly beauty of the melody of war. 

He was a soldier. He had always been a soldier, he would always be a soldier. Battle reached for him with hands of challenge, a dreadful lover he could never leave. She pulled the deepest corners of his soul into her light, and he rushed to her side in helpless thrall to her demands. He felt alive, his entire being flooded with purpose, with the excruciating joy of putting his life between the vulnerable people of the Commonwealth, and the savage world around them.

Cait was down. There was nothing he could do for her now. But he could save the provisioner. He could kill these mirelurks. He could stop these raiders. Many lives would be put down today, and if only one walked away, he would give his last breath to make sure it was the brave provisioner.

He ran toward the raiders.

The raider’s shouts turned to anger and fear, as their walls were swept by burning vomit. A screaming raider slipped from her perch, the contents of her skull oozing down the melted flesh of her chest. Feral ghouls shambled from the shadows toward the queen, to be reduced to stinking lumps of goo in seconds. Raiders began to fire on the queen and her guard from higher vantage points, hoping to escape her range and still do damage.

The moment the raiders switched their sights to the queen mirelurk and her protective harem, Danse darted down into the lower levels of the parking garage adjoining the derelict Quincy Super Duper Mart. From there he continued his attack on the mirelurks, ducking behind the crumbling cement pillars to escape the queen’s destructive wrath as needed, then sniping again as the raiders pulled her focus back to their attack.

Blue smoke rose into the sky between the town and the mirelurks, just as the king mirelurk found him.

Danse dove behind a rusting car, firing almost continuously on the king, who was bounding quickly from side to side to escape the laser blasts. It held still, and in that split second loosed a staggering sonic blast. Danse’s hearing sensors blew out, and his hiding place shifted. The king let out another stunning sonic shriek.

Danse’s ears were pounding. He braced himself against the wall to hold the vibrating car back from crushing him. His head felt like it was exploding. 

Cait, he thought, his vision blurring. He prayed she and the provisioner had survived.

The king appeared around the corner of the truck. It clawed at Danse, its maw gaping for the final scream that would finish him.

A sharp whine pierced the air, growing louder and louder, and a destructive meteor impacted into Quincy with a thunderous explosion that shook the earth, and rocked the parking structure. The king mirelurk staggered back, looking around in fear.

Danse didn’t hesitate to question. He yanked his laser rifle up, and poured bolts of ozone-fueled lightning into the king, until it collapsed, its mouth still framing the deadly shriek it could no longer give.

Another massive detonation shook Danse’s refuge, shaking down dust and fragments of cement, reminding him that if he didn’t get out of there now, he would be entombed alongside the dead king. He ran.

A third earth-shaking artillery load was quickly followed by the fourth and final shot. The aerial derrick he had seen at Graygarden expelled Minutemen sliding down ropes into the fray. More Minutemen appeared around the Super Duper Mart. Grenades exploded, and gunfire filled the air as the Commonwealth Militia attacked the queen and the raiders. 

A killclaw squealed and slid into the mud beside him, dead. Danse turned to see four Minutemen running from behind the parking structure. He had been completely unaware of the deadly beast lurking in the shadows near its fallen king, but the Minutemen had seen it. They had saved his life. He gave a respectful salute, and fell in step with his new allies, advancing on the queen, and firing the last of his fusion cells.

The queen gave a shrilling screech, and collapsed into the mud, almost landing on the provisioner and his dead brahmin.

 

Danse knelt down in the mud next to the dying man, and lifted the provisioner’s head and shoulders from the cold muck. He took in the man’s shredded leather armor, caved-in, melted combat armor chestplate, and broken assault rifle. The provisioner had to have known he would not have survived any battle with the queen or her minions. He could have shot the flares from cover, where the mirelurks wouldn’t have seen him. He could have just run. Saved himself, instead of joining a hopeless fight against impossible odds.

But the man hadn’t. He had shot the flares summoning help immediately, to give Danse a chance at survival, even though he had to have known it would mean his own death. 

The courage and sacrifice of this plain man, a simple provisioner, overwhelmed him. Humbled him. 

“That was a brave thing you did, firing those flares”, he said. “I’m going to guess that’s what called the Minutemen to this spot. But it also made you very visible to the mirelurks. You gave your life to give me a chance to save my own. You are a man of rare courage, and I will always be in your debt. Thank you.”

The man choked, blood spilling from his mouth as he tried to speak.

“Be strong… in… spire streng… th…in someone… else… ” 

The provisioner’s voice disappeared in a garble of blood. His eyes stared lifelessly into Danse’s.

A deep voice behind Danse spoke.

“Minuteman Provisioner Randall Pearce of Somerville Place gave his life to save you, soldier of the Brotherhood of Steel. I hold you responsible to him, to give like justice for his life. To contemplate the enemies he would have killed, people’s lives he would have saved, and a world he would have made better. If he were still here.”

“He is still here”, a familiar female voice said. “Minutemen never die.”

Danse looked up at Cait blankly, registering her presence, but not seeing her. The circle of Minutemen Danse hadn’t even noticed forming around himself and the dead man, spoke quietly, completing the ritual.

“He is still here.”

They lifted the man from his arms, then helped Danse to his feet. He watched the somber procession respectfully lay the man’s body, and two others onto their makeshift vertibird and take off. Other Minutemen unpacked the dead brahmin, and after dividing the load, they too, headed north. 

A gentle hand laid itself on his melted metal arm, as he watched the Minutemen disappear into the mist. 

“Are ye okay, big man?”

He stared unseeingly into the gloom. Cait patted his arm and repeated her question. Still receiving no answer, she began walking back to the burrow, tugging the man lost in his thoughts behind her.

It wasn’t until he banged his head on the low opening to their refuge that he woke up.

“Oh I’m sorry! Are ye okay then?” Cait said anxiously.

Danse slowly shook his head. “I don’t understand. He saved my life, Cait. A simple man, untrained in combat or military discipline, died so I could live. He had to have known his life would be forfeit the second he drew attention to himself firing those flares, and did it anyway, on impossible faith that I could live through a fight with a queen mirelurk and all of her protectors. And I would not have survived, Cait. The blind sacrifice of an innocent civilian saved my life.”

Cait saw the confusion in his eyes as he struggled to make sense of what had happened. “Did ye never see someone other than yer Brotherhood stand up to their fear so’s another person would be havin a chance te live on?”

“No, Cait. Never. Civilians run from danger. They run the second they see it. They don’t care past their own survival. I’ve watched this my whole life. Only soldiers have the discipline and training to stand their ground in the face of sure death. Did you hear what he said to me? His dying words? He said, ‘Be strong. Inspire strength in someone else’. This conviction, this… strength of character, how did he… why did he have it? Where did he find it? This isn’t the attitude of a common civilian. This is the attitude of a soldier.”

“It’s th attitude and conviction o’ th Minutemen, Danse. He wasn’t a soldier, like you seem to want him te be. But he came te a settlement, an found safety fer himself an his family. Then he was able te see past simple survival. He learned how te do stuff- fight, an shoot, an fix a water purifier or turret, or build a house, an suddenly he had a future. He wanted te take care of th people who were takin care of him, an learned to provision. Christine, the General to ye, says what he said all th time. If ye have courage, ye can inspire courage in someone else. But that willinness te face his death fer ye, that’s th heart o’ a Minuteman. Not everyone has that. I’m glad he did, Danse. They’ll be buryin him at th Memory Trees with special honor, but th highest testament te his goodness is standin right here in front o’ me. Yer still alive. Now ye can go on an save others. See? That’s what we’re meanin when we say he’s still here. His memory is in ye. His courage adds te yers. He didn’t die. He’s right there with ye, still fightin on. Are ye goin te be okay, Danse?”

Danse stared at the concerned face peering up into his helmet, finally seeing her and smiled. He parked what was left of his power armor in the corner, and took her into his arms.

“It’s a… mental adjustment. But I should be asking you the same thing. Are you alright, Cait? The last time I saw you, your armor was melting, and then you disappeared into the mud.” 

He held her away at an arm’s length, turning her this way and that, looking for the extent of her injuries. “I don’t see any damage. Stimpak?”

“A fair number o’ them, te tell th truth, and a Med-X to me hand. I’m goin te end up with some fancy scars on me shoulder an arm, but nothin more excitin than that. The tough part’s goin te be fixin me armor, an replacing me damn gun. I loved that gun. Never saw anythin like it in me whole life. Of everythin Chris ever gave me, that gun was th very best. Now come sit an let me look ye over.” She pointed him at the couch. “Take yer shirt off. It’s all over rags.”

Moving stiffly to avoid pulling his burns any more than necessary, Danse removed his ragged Brotherhood t-shirt. He sat on a crate so she could maneuver around him. 

Cait took one look, and immediately slammed stimpaks into his leg and shoulder. “Ye actually aren’t lookin too bad. Hold still so’s I can pick out that burnt stuff b’fore it heals in.”

Danse watched Cait’s face as she knelt between his knees and concentrated. A scalpel and tweezers followed her intensely focused eyes as she gently cut away dead skin at his collarbone. Her brow was deeply furrowed with concentration, her lips pursed. The scent of wild squash blossoms, gunpowder, and whiskey teased his nose every time she moved. He breathed deeply.

“Eeep! Don’t wiggle, big man. I don’t want te be hurtin ye. Did ye notice I have a very sharp knife in me hand?”

He smiled down into her scowling face. “I trust you Cait.”

“Ye better. I’m holdin a knife pretty near yer throat. Come te think o’ it, I could make any demand o’ ye I wanted, an te keep me from harmin ye, ye’d have te give in. Ooooo, what shall I ask fer first?”

He grinned. “Ask away. I’ll be happy to give you anything you want.” Without thinking, he kissed the tanned forehead bobbing so close to his lips.

Cait froze, her eyes wide.

“I’m sorry, Cait! I didn’t mean to…” Danse stumbled over himself apologizing. “I mean I did, but I should have asked firs-“

Cait’s lips carefully met his, effectively cutting off his fumbling. 

Her lips were soft and slow, tentative as she curiously explored the feeling. He kissed her gently, allowing Cait whatever she needed. His body might be having other ideas, but he firmly quelled his urges, to let her touch him in peace. Her eyes closed, and she kissed him more deeply. He fought to sit still.

Cait released his lips and looked into his calm face intently. “Was that right?”

“What?”

“I’ve never kissed before. Peacefully, I mean. With someone I wanted te be kissin, who was kissin me back. Did I do it right?”

Danse had no idea what to think. Cait was bold around flirtatious men, like Dane. She wasn’t embarrassed to be caught naked, or admiring his own physique. She had muckled right onto him when he had pulled her from the wall at Cambridge. She was beautiful and smart, a joy to be around. He had expected her to have had many lovers. 

“It was perfect. You’ve never-“

“Why didn’t ye put yer arms around me then? Ye felt kinda way over there.”

“Uhh I didn’t want to frighten you. Or make you angry. You seemed a little irritated when I held you at the police station without your permission. You kissed me there, as I recall.”

“Not really. I kinda slammed me lips te yers. Close enough. That’s not what I want kissin te be.” 

“You’ve never kissed nicely? With love?”

Her eyes widened again. “That was what bein kissed back with love is feelin like? Ye feel love fer me too?”

“How could I not? You argue, you ignore my commands and don’t listen to what I say most of the time, you throw rocks at me, point your gun into my face, try to cook me alive under a rocket engine, slam your power armor into mine, made me slap a table for three minutes while you sang, and you keep stealing my Junk Jet-“

“MY Junk Jet!”

“See what I mean?”

“Danse-“

“Cait, listen.” Danse took both of her hands into his. “I’ve watched you fight a deathclaw to save one of your settlements. You killed raiders to save the trader and her guards. You helped me understand little Riley when I had no idea what to do. You fought your way through ArcJet to help me, even though the transmitter was in your pack the whole time, and you finally trusted me enough to give it to me. No wait-“ he said when she opened her mouth to protest. “I understand. Trust doesn’t come easily to you. I see that. I hope you understand that when all is said and done, it’s not your feisty nature, or sweetness, or kindness, or your beautiful eyes that I love, though I love everything about you. But I can’t find the right words or reasons to explain why I do. They don’t exist. I just know that I do.”

Tears brimmed in Cait’s eyes. There he was. Danse was the man Christine had wished for, for Cait.

‘I want you to find the man who’ll love you like you’re supposed to be loved.’ Christine had said. ‘And I don’t want you to freak out if he wants to touch your body. Your personal body has been hurt by enough men. I want you to know this man loves you and will respect your body and your wishes if you say No. I want the perfect man to find you. Life is so fragile out here in the Commonwealth. You can’t keep waiting, and holding back. When you know he’s the one, don’t hold back, Cait.’

Life is so fragile out here in the Commonwealth. Cait had come very close to death, battling the queen mirelurk. If Danse hadn’t saved her… 

And he could have died any second. He had pulled the queen, a king, two killclaws, and a handful of regular mirelurks away from her, every last one intent on causing his death. And then ran toward a town full of raiders. Danse had no logical right to be alive. 

But there he was, sitting with her between his knees, patient, calm, not pushing, not demanding. Just… waiting.

“Danse? Can I tell ye a thing or two about me life b’fore I met ye?”

“Of course.”

“Ye can’t say a thing until I’m done. Not a one.”

“Okay.”

Distrust shadowed her eyes. “Yer sure ye can do this? It’s not pretty. If ye’ve heard enough an want me te stop at any time, all ye have te do is say so.”

“Cait. Please talk to me. You can tell me whatever is on your mind. I believe openness and complete honesty are a very good way to start a relationship.”

A smile flitted across her face. She was not going to hold back. Her past was a part of her, just as much as she was hoping Danse would be a part of her future. She would Not. Hold. Back.

“A relationship. I would like a good relationship with ye, big man. Are ye sure yer ready?”

“Ready.”

“Could ye kiss me again b’fore I start? Just in case I never get another from ye.”

Danse smiled. “Of course.” He leaned toward her.

Cait pulled her head back. “Wait. I want ye te use yer arms. Kiss me right.”

He chuckled and wrapped her tightly in his arms, cuddling her soft body against his broad chest. “Good?”

She snuggled in comfortably. “Very good. I like this. Ye can use yer arms when ye kiss me from now on.”

*

“COME IN!”

Something glass smashed against the inside of the door. Wednesday looked at Rob with alarm.

“Is this how Christine always answers her door? It does not seem like a safe thing she does. She does not know who is on this side? We could be something that will bring her danger, yes?”

Rob patted the little hand tucked under his elbow soothingly. “I can’t imagine anyone stupid enough to be bringing her harm, especially not in the middle of a heavily patrolled town like Diamond City. And if I was, I would probably think twice, after she smashed a bottle against the door.”

He turned back to the door “Chris! It’s Rob and Wednesday! We’re coming in!”

“Well come ahead!” A strange voice answered. 

Who on earth was in there with her? That sure didn’t sound like Cain. He eased open the door.

“Um… Chris?”

She was sprawled upside down on her couch, her feet up over the back, and her head where her feet should be. A surprising number of beer bottles were balanced atop of each other like a wall, the remains of another broken around the door. She had a bottle of whiskey clutched right-side up to her chest. She opened her mouth to greet them, but all that came out was a choking spate of hiccups. Christine giggled and tried again, but was thwarted by another bubbling spasm of malfunctions. 

There was another woman standing on the table, bent over with her butt in the air. She looked at Rob and Wednesday upside down from between her legs. “Hi! Are you deliver (hiccup) ing our pizza (hiccup)?”

Christine cracked up and slipped off the couch, banging her head on the floor. 

“That was a (hiccup) shitty Stumpy imitation, Piper. John Wayne (hiccup) would have known (hiccup) known something was going (hiccup hiccup) on, and come in with his (hiccup) pistol drawn.”

The bottle fumbled from her hands, and Rob and Wednesday were treated to the indescribable sight of the General of the Commonwealth Minutemen crawling and hiccupping after it like a common drunkard.

“NOOOO! Come back here you sneaky little f-f (hiccup) fucker! Piper! Hel (hiccup) Help!”

The woman on the table tried to step off the table still half upside-down. She crashed to the floor in a heap, laughing and hiccupping. She crawled on her hands and knees toward Christine. Losing what little remained of her balance, Piper fumbled off onto her side. She struggled to right herself, but it seemed upright was a concept that had disappeared many drinks ago. She lay on the floor, still hiccupping,

Rob stared at the two women, one crawling unsteadily after a rolling, rapidly-emptying bottle, the other stretched out on the floor, her arm yearning in the general direction of her friend, and both of them thoroughly, boozily, tanked. His face grew increasingly redder as he tried to hold back his laughter.

Christine pinned the bottle between an extremely uncoordinated hand and the wall. “A- (hiccup) HA! Gotcha, you sneaky bas (hiccup) bast (hiccup) basta (hiccup)…Oh fuck it.” 

She staggered to her feet, drained the last chug of whiskey from the bottle, then bent over to the same position Piper had been in when they had entered and tried to swallow. She teetered onto one foot. Wednesday ran to rescue her, but her slight frame wasn’t enough to rebalance her friend. Choking and sputtering, Christine tumbled to the floor, dragging Wednesday with her.

“Christine!” Wednesday said indignantly. “You are very drunk!”

Christine fell backwards, pointing at the ceiling. “Winner, winner, chicken dinner! Took me all day too. Am I getting to be an alcoholic, do you think? I’ll have to ask Cait. CAIT, YE DAFT COW! AM I DRINKING TOO MUCH? She’s not answering. She must be drunk too. PIPER! IS CAIT DRUNK? No, wait a minute. She’s not here. Right.” Christine awkwardly sat up mostly straight, and tried to focus on Wednesday. “Are you Ccccolonel Sanders? I asked for extra-crispy.”

Wednesday didn’t know what to say. “Christine, what?”

“And a taco.”

From across the room, Piper erupted into laughter. “Uno mas, senor!”

“Dos mas!” Christine bellowed, right in Wednesday’s startled face.

“Another kind of… mas!”

“Mucho mas! You know, that’s what’s wrong with this fffucking wasteland. No tequila. Then IIIII’d have an excuse for sleeping with who… umm ever I wanted.”

Piper tried unsuccessfully to lift her head from the cold, cement floor. “Why? What’s tequila?”

“Booze that makes yyyyyour clothes come off. I need a trip to ummm Nuka World. Gage is one sweet- HEY! MY HICCUPS ARE GONE!”

The room was silent as they listened. Wednesday shook her head. 

Rob rolled his eyes at her. “All right you two-“

“HEY! MINE ARE GONE TOO! I TOLD YOU IT WOULD WORK!”

“I told you. Tequila takes ’em umm off.”

“Huh?”

“Oh! You mmmeant your hiccups. I thought you were talking about your cccclothes. My bad.”

“Your bad what?”

“BACK BEHIND THE WALL! DEFEND THE KKKKKINGDOMUM!” Christine crawled over behind her wall of beer bottles. Seeing Piper not following, she pulled on her arm. 

Piper slapped at her. “No, you lunatic. Time for bed. Bed. And I am NOT publishing that interview. You better give me a a a a serious one in the morning. What the hell even IS a umm ummm guinea pig?”

Without another word, Piper passed out cold.

Christine snorted. “Lightweight. Imma sleep in my bbbed. Because IIIII’m not too drunk to move.”

“Oh this should be good”, Rob said in an undertone. He pulled Wednesday down on the couch with him.

They watched as Christine attempted to stand sixteen times.

“She’s very determined”, Wednesday whispered.

“Keep watching.”

Failing that, Christine crawled to the steps leading to the second floor. She was distracted by a brand new, unopened bottle of whiskey on the workbench. 

Which she couldn’t reach. She tried to stand again. Eight more times.

“ROB!” she finally yelled.

Grinning ear to ear, he trotted over, gently pushed her into a sitting position with her back against the wall, and put the bottle in her lap. He sat beside her, helping her to balance with his shoulder. Wednesday tucked up on her other side.

Christine struggled with the bottle for 10 minutes before giving up.

“ROB!” she yelled again.

“Right here, General.” He uncorked the whiskey, and set it back in her hands.

“I NEED YOU TO- oh. Thanks.” She took a deep slug. “Fuck being the General. Generals aren’t hhhappy. Not happy.”

“Umm, they make other people happy, right? I thought that make you happy? Saving lives, and helping people have the lives they deserve?”

“Yes, Christine.” Wednesday chimed in. “You have made a great difference in the lives of many people in the Commonwealth. I am especially thankful for you. Without you, I would still be Curie.”

Christine’s bleary focus swung back and forth between Wednesday and Rob. Tears filled her eyes. 

“Yeah but I’m never the happy one. I used to be happy. Now I’m not. I want to go home, Rob. I want I want want to run away.”

“Okay. In the morning we’ll head to Sanctuary-“

“No. Mmmy home. My real home. I want Mom’s lasagna. S’really, really good. And I want to wear her red lispip… liskip…lip…stuff and have her yell at me. “Christine Mmmadeline Christopher, get out of my th-things!” And I want want to blow up stuff with my dddad. And say “Look! Elvis!” and when Chrrrrishun turns to look, sneak my ummm green beans onto his pplate.” 

She leaned her forehead against Wednesday’s. 

“I hate green bbeans”, she said conspiratorially. “They’re like worms in your mouth.”

“Oh.”

Wednesday watched Christine’s eyes close, though she kept on talking. “I went on a a roller coaster once. I got ssssick.”

Rob looked alarmed. “Are you feeling sick now?”

“Nope. I have to fix Nuka ummWorld. Gage said it’ll cccalm down the raiders. I think killing ‘em all would calm ‘em down better. Except Gage. I like him.”

Jesus, she was hard to keep up with. “Who’s Gage-“

“Cain left me.”

“What?!” Rob was surprised. So soon? They had spoken about it only a few days ago.

“Mademoiselle Christine, who is this Cain?”

Rob waved Wednesday to silence. “When did he go?”

“This morning. He left me a a a ‘Dear John’ letter. Want to see it?” She pulled a warm, crumpled wad from her bra and stuffed it in his hand.

Christine

 

Cain

“It’s blank.”

“Yup.”

“Well, how do you know he’s gone?”

She cracked an eye open enough to glare at him. “I know. Here, ccclose your eyes too. Now how do you know Wednesday’s here?” She clumsily patted Wednesday’s leg.

“I can tell. I just know. She was just there. I can hear her breathe.”

“Right. Exactly. It’s like that, only umm backwards. Rob?”

“Yeah. Chris?”

“I’m glad he let you… you know he was there. I’m crap at kkkeeping secrets. ROB!” 

“WHAT?”

“I need help getting to my ummm bed. Don’t tell Piper.” Her eyes drifted shut. “Better hurry. You know, the llllast time I passed out drunk, Cain was peeling that icky mess out of my bbbback. I don’t think I’m that drunk yet. He gave me wings, you know.”

“Oh did he now?” Rob stood and pulled her up into his arms. “Wednesday, plop her arm across her lap please.” 

“Certainly.”

“Uh- huh. And he umm…cccarried me to bed last night. I think. ROB!”

He gently laid her on her bed. “Yes, Christine?”

“Ppput those last bottles on the wall I was building. I need ‘em. I need my wall. It likes me.”

Rob watched Wednesday cover Christine’s comatose body with a blanket, sadly.

Poor Christine. Damn Cain. 

And damn this whole stinking wasteland, and everything it had stolen from his friend. Pizza, whatever that was. Tacos, whatever they were. John, whoever that was, and Pete too, whoever the hell he was. Lispip, lasagna, extra crispy, green bean worms, tequila, maases, and all of the other things that used to be a part of her life that she would never see again. 

But he couldn’t let her run away. They needed her. Mama Murphy said if they lost Christine, they lost everything, and Mama Murphy was never wrong.

Damn Cain. Damn the war. Damn the wasteland.

Damn everything.

*

The raiders were dancing. Dog pranced in ever-widening circles around Christine’s pet supermutant, Strong, who was dancing with Wednesday, Ham, and everyone from Vault 81. Except Sturges, and his ladyfriend Alexis. The waved, and disappeared into Christine’s library. And Ham was smoking cigars. San Francisco Sunlights, by the look.

Rob rolled onto his back.

That wasn’t right. Ham hated cigars. And why was Strong dancing? Or the raiders? And where was Wednesday? Where did she go? Wasn’t she right there in the bed with him a moment ago?

His hand searched across the bed to her side. She was right here. She was right here? Not dancing?

Her lips touched his. She didn’t apply enough pressure to make the touch a kiss, just gently swept small circles, feeling him. His wandering hand slid down her back, and under the silky slip she loved to wear in bed for him. 

He relaxed, slipping easily back into sleep. She was right here.

Fingernails dragged lightly down his body. They encircled his very stiff morning cock, and dragged upwards, and off. Reappearing on the inside of his thigh, they traveled up his chest again, not hard enough to scratch, but not so softly they tickled. Somewhere very nice in between. 

At his neck, the fingernails disappeared into the warm pressure of her hands, her thumbs gliding along his jaw. The pressure increased, massaging his scalp, and giving a few gentle tugs. The lips returned to his, this time in a full kiss.

Mmmmmmmm…

Her tongue touched his and vanished. Lips and hands drifted down his body. Her warm, wet mouth enveloped his cock.

Rob’s eyes sprang open.

“Wednesday!”

Her eyes twinkled up at him from above lips that were firmly wrapped around his appreciative shaft. She sucked, then slid up and down again. He plopped his head back down on the pillow and closed his eyes. 

“You’re getting pretty good at that.”

“It has indeed given consistent results.” She sucked him up and down again, giving the soft head a kiss. “Though I cannot be sure. Our baseline testing had the same results. If we accept that you will achieve an erection when I apply my ‘wiles’ as you call them, in this manner, every time, our data has no comparative growth. The results are no more or less than the baseline.”

He stroked himself. “Please don’t stop, Wednesday. I don’t want to ruin the validity of our research.”

He moaned with pleasure at her return to sucking his cock in and out of her hot mouth. Her tongue flicked and explored. Cupping his balls with her hand, she tugged, enough to excite, but not hurt. Her other hand joined her mouth. He fought to control his thrusting hips, so he wouldn’t hurt her.

“When I do this and you already have an erection, the results are the same-“

“Wednesday! Please!”

She giggled again, and returned to her very fun research. She pulled off immediately.

“Rob! It has been ten minutes. It is your turn to conduct your research on me.”

His loud groan was followed by a wicked grin. “Would you like to lay back, or did you have variations ready to implement? Are you aroused, or are we starting from neutral ground?”

She settled back against the pillows. “No variations yet. I need more data in this position first. And you know it is impossible for me to conduct research on you without becoming aroused myself. This human body is much more difficult to control than- oooooooo!”

Her head fell back onto the pillow. “Rob, licking me is a oooooooo very effective way to enhance my arousal. Why is it that I suck, and you lick? Would it not work the other way around?”

Robs mouth slipped from his assault on her sweet, pink folds to her clitoris, sucking and flicking.

“OOOOOOOO!!! YES…YES! OOOOO! WE MUST ADAPT THE PARAMETERS OF OUR RESEARCH TO INCLUDE THIS!”

Someone banged on the wall. “QUIET! TRYING TO SLEEP HERE!”

Rob and Wednesday stared at each other.

“SORRY!” Rob yelled.

Wednesday looked disgruntled. “A room at the Dugout Inn is not the best place to conduct our research, Rob. Perhaps we should wait until we reach a more solitary location?”

He crawled up her body, and laid himself fully upon her, his shaft tucked between her thighs. He slowly pumped his hips. “Or we could be very quiet.”

Wednesday pouted. “But you make me very loud! I cannot be quiet when you make this love to me. It is impossible.” 

“Tell you what, if you’re okay with me blocking your mouth instead of letting you yell, I can help you be quieter. Does that sound okay?”

“Rob, to quiet me, you shall have to hold my mouth closed the entire time. You make me feel very, very good. I cannot stop myself. And it will ruin our data this evening, to hold in my responses.”

“Wait, it’s evening? Like, night evening? How long did I sleep?”

“It was very early in the morning when we left Christine and her friend Piper. I have checked on them many times this day, while you slept. Piper has gone to her home, to work on Christine’s interview, she said. Christine was awake, but lying bundled in her blanket on the floor between her couch and the wall of bottles she created last night. Her eyes were clear. She just seemed to be thinking.”

“Was she making that deathclaw smile? She freaks me the fuck out when she does that.”

His brow slowly furrowed as he stared at Wednesday.

“What is it, Rob? Have you taken harm? Has your good health been disturbed?” 

He shook his head. “No, I’m fine Wednesday, but can you hear that?”

She strained to hear what he was so concerned about. “I hear nothing.”

“Exactly. It’s quiet. Too quiet.” He chuckled briefly. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

“But it is quiet. Is this a bad thing, Rob?”

“It’s an unusual thing. At 8 o’clock on a Friday night, the Dugout Inn should be noisy. Full of people talking and yelling, and drinking.... Where are they all?”

Rob silently slipped from the bed and dressed himself, tucking his softening cock into his pants regretfully. He gestured for Wednesday to dress as well.

Rifle in hand, he eased open the door.

No one. Yefim was not at his customary place by the hallway leading to the rooms he rented. Vadim was not behind the bar encouraging patrons to try his Bobrov’s Best. Scarlett wasn’t sweeping. No one was yelling at the broken pie machine, or ringing the bell. Not a single souls was in the place.

Rob and Wednesday exchanged concerned looks. They crept to the front door and peeked out.

Everyone was outside. Sitting at the tables, standing in the street, all of them motionless and listening. Faint musical notes faded off into nothing.

Wednesday was confused. It was silent. Why was nobody saying anything?

Gentle guitar chords drifted into the air. The song was slow, and sad. A sweet voice slid in.

 

“Another day has almost come and gone

Can’t imagine what else could go wrong

Sometimes I’d like to hide away, somewhere and lock the door,

A single battle lost, but not the war

“Cause tomorrows another day, and I’m thirsty anyway

So bring on the rain”

 

Christine! She was on her roof singing. The pain and defeat in her voice were heart-rending, but under it was a quiet, determined strength, damaged, but still there. She was searching for solace in her music. Letting it balm her pain. Letting it speak for her.

Rob reached for Wednesday’s hand, and the two made their way slowly through the crowd to Christine’s door, listening to the song.

 

“It’s almost like the hard times circle ‘round

A couple drops, and they all start coming down

Yeah I might feel defeated, and I might hang my head

I might be barely breathing, but I’m not dead

‘Cause tomorrows another day, and I’m thirsty anyway

So bring on the rain.”

 

He had heard this one before, at the Castle. He remembered silently standing in the stone corridor with Preston and Ronnie, listening to the echoes of Christine’s voice as she sang. When she finished, she had come out into the corridor, tears streaming down her cheeks, unsurprised by their presence. Then she had done a very odd thing. She hugged Preston, and looking into his confused eyes, said “It’s okay. I know. I’ll find you.” Rob was still puzzling over that one.

They slipped through the open trapdoor to Christine’s roof. 

She was sitting in a lumpy old armchair with her leg thrown over the side, and her eyes closed. They opened as Rob and Wednesday approached and sat on the ledge. Rob joined her song.

 

“No I’m not going to let it get me down

I’m not going to cry

And I’m not going to lose any sleep tonight

‘Cause tomorrow’s another day

And I am not afraid

So bring on the rain

Tomorrow’s another day, and I’m thirsty anyway

So bring on the rain.

Bring on the rain.”

 

The final chords dwindled off. 

Christine hugged her duct tape- covered guitar. “Thank you, Rob.”

“Any time.”

Below, the people of Diamond City didn’t applaud. Each one knew they had been eavesdropping on a musical conversation between Christine and herself, not them. Footsteps shuffled off.

*

At the gate leading into Diamond City, cold sweat trickled down the trembling neck of Danny Sullivan, head of the Diamond City security force. Four other guards stood nervously with him, but he knew they would all die in an instant, if the man they were obstructing decided to take violent offense. So far, Conrad Kellogg had only stared at them with his cold, emotionless eyes, and his weapon drawn, but not pointing at anyone. Yet.

The man was a hunter. A killer. An executioner. If Kellogg was sent to find you, you were dead. There was no hiding. No running away. No bargaining or pleading. It had even been whispered that he was an operative for the Institute. No one crossed his path and survived.

And here Danny was, having to detain Kellogg, and ask what his business was in Diamond City, just like he had to do with everyone trying to enter the Great Green Jewel, even the people who had lived and worked here every day of their lives. 

Kellogg didn’t answer, just stared. As his silence continued, Danny’s fear magnified exponentially. He prayed with all of his heart that Kellogg wasn’t mentally choosing how Danny would die. There were stories from all over the Commonwealth about people Kellogg killed. The sick, cold ways he tortured and murdered them. Kellogg was more frightening to him than a whole pack of deathclaws. 

And he had a house in Diamond City! Who the hell would sell a house to a known murderer?! The most dangerous man in the Commonwealth?! What idiot had agreed to that?! Then again, who could have possibly told him no? 

Maybe the man was just going home for a nice bowl of sugar bombs, then would leave. Yes, that would be…

He almost wet himself when Kellogg’s head turned toward Christine’s music. The man stood motionless, like he was still listening, long after the song had ended.

Kellogg’s deep, gravelly, cold voice scraped along very inch of Danny’s body, goosebumps rising in its wake.

“Bring on the rain?” He laughed harshly, and without humor. “You want to find the Institute? Well the Institute wants to find you too, little girl. You should have been more careful of what you wished for.”

His uncaring eyes raked each of the guards in turn, starting and ending with Danny, daring them to say a single word to the General about his presence. Taunting them. Reminding them of the mistake spilling his words to the General would be. 

Amused by the terrified understanding in their eyes, Kellogg turned, and left Diamond City.

It took a long time for Danny to remember how to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's time to check in on Commonwealth Academy...
> 
> See you after the holidays.


	39. I Love You Because The Whole Universe Conspired To Help Me Find You- unk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The General takes Ronnie on a tour or two, a new Minuteman competition, pie, and learning the definition of a monster.

Chapter 39

“These soldiers are NOT ready to be let out into the Commonwealth! They’re barely worth being called soldiers at all! Look at them!”

“My assessment as well. Keep walking, Ronnie, these aren’t the droids we’re looking for.”

“What? What dr-? Oh never mind.” Sergeant Ronnie Shaw stormed down the hallway after her General, shoving equipment out of her way, and snarling at startled students as they passed. “Well why did you drag me through every feral, mutant, raider, bug, and mirelurk-infested alley of this damn city to the vault then? I did not save you from the supermutants at that old building site, and the Gwinnett Brewery just to evaluate a group of incompetents at your happy little school for idiots. Even you could see those people would be completely incapable of surviving out there. I saved you from a damn suicider, for Pete’s sake. And don’t you start on who Pete is. My cousin Pete is good enough. Damn fool. “

It was getting harder and harder for Christine to hold in her raging laughter. Getting Sergeant Shaw to Commonwealth Academy here at Vault 81 had been worth a full semester of pop quizzes for the tart old woman. She hadn’t been out of the Castle for years. Pushing Ronnie through enemy encampments, one after another, had not only provided her recalcitrant student with a fine, Christine-driven refresher course on the most current threat levels, but had also treated Christine to front-row seats on the woman’s acerbic battle style. Ronnie never shut up, yelling at adversaries and her General alike, and giving Christine aching muscles from having to hold in her laughter for miles.

“I shot the supermutants, and the suicider, Ronnie, and this is the only the second day for that group you just saw.” Christine pointed her pen to the observation windows on her right. “Now these two bays here are outfitted for repair and modification of weapons and armor. There are scheduled classes every day, but it’s staffed around the clock so students and soldiers alike can come in anytime, and get help working on their equipment. Across the way is one of our ranges, this one for battle simulations. See Dr. Wednesday’s medics doing triage and evacuation exercises?” Christine stopped to watch more closely. “See that? That’s a clever technique. Wish we’d had that training yesterday.”

“Well I got the nuke bastard close enough for you to hit him. You took your sweet time about it, too. We wasted four stimpaks, and enough time repairing our armor for a whole hoard of ferals to catch up with us. I shot every damn one of those-“

“You shot two. All of the classrooms along the left side of this corridor are for teaching and observation.” She gave a thumbs-up to the brilliant man who had become disgusted with the Brotherhood of Steel’s mismanagement of his talents, and had found his true calling teaching children at the Academy. “Looks like Andy has his 101 group checking out the new gatorclaw. See it behind the glass wall?”

“Well I would have shot them all if you hadn’t decided to finally help out at the last minute.” Ronnie stared at the youngsters peeking out from behind the former scribe, at a huge, scaly, standing reptile with rows and rows of sharp teeth, and heavy talons on its bestial paws, slathering and snarling at them from behind the thick glass observation wall. “Where the hell did you find that monstrosity? What’s next? A supermutant? And what’s a 101 class, anyway?”

“101 is a beginner’s class. Once you’ve learned the basics, you graduate to a more in-depth class level, 201. The next level is 301, etc. I based it off my old college system. I’ve only come across gatorclaws in Nuka World, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t here somewhere, and I like to be prepared. Still working on the supermutant. Down there on the right side are other rooms, devoted mostly to more intensive research. Looks like X7-24 has his class disassembling a Generation 1 synth in this one, next to that Gen 2 that’s being reassembled. We really lucked out getting an ex-courser. And Dr. Forsythe has two of his top pupils dissecting a yao guai in-”

Ronnie was not willing to be sidetracked by the General’s pet project just yet. “And what about those six mirelurks! I had to-“

“Seven. I shot all six in front of us, then the one that almost had you from behind.”

“Only after I softened them up! And I knew he was back there. I just wanted to see what you would do. As usual, you waited until he was almost on top of me… What the devil goes on in this room? “

A huge map of the Commonwealth, painted with exceptional skill, covered almost half of a wall. Dozens of yarn strings were pinned to various areas of it, each one leading off to multiple detailed drawings of the location, with numbers, dates, and entries listed on sheets of paper. The room looked like a drunken swarm of spiders had enjoyed one wild art class.

“Those are location reports. Advanced students go on field trips to specific areas, draw pictures, make observations, and if necessary, clear all hostiles, then come back here and record their findings. See? That string there leads from the warehouse you were talking about, past the brewery, and into the South Boston Police Station. The pictures show what they saw, and the spreadsheets list the visits themselves, by date. They’re given a record number that corresponds with detailed entries on a master list in that computer terminal over there. You could look up any date on the list by the police station icon, for example, and learn all about the expedition and their findings. You and I actually took that same route so I could verify the rate in which hostiles repopulate the area. It’s an excellent tool for deciding where to allow settlers to expand to. I was kind of discouraged to see that not only had the supermutants, mirelurks, and ferals had returned, but some stingwings too. And I didn’t want to interrupt your most excellent tactical assessment of our situation. As soon as was polite, I shot the mirelurk.”

“Now listen here, missy-“

Christine grinned. “Let yourself feel good about it, Ronnie. You’re helping the future of the Commonwealth to be built. When you stomped off-“

“I didn’t stomp off! I never stomp off!”

“When you… took the lead and brought us right up in the middle of the raider stronghold at Andrews Station, it was like you were reading my mind. I mean, how did that army of devils learn the station had been cleared? They just wandered over, saw it was clear, and decided to set up shop? How many did we kill there?”

“I killed a dozen at least.”

“I’ll give you… three.”

“THREE?!”

“At the most. Let’s check your magazine, and see how many bullets are missing.”

“WHY YOU JUMPED UP LITTLE…! I KILLED THE MOST IMPORTANT ONES! I WAS PROTECTING MY STUPID GENERAL, WITH NO THOUGHT TO MY OWN SAFETY-“

“Maybe they were from a rival raider faction, who had come to make war on the original raiders of Andrews Station, the ones we had already killed. They found the place empty, and moved in…” Christine mused, pulling a mangled notebook from her thigh pocket and scribbling down a few notes. “Need to talk to Preston about that. It would solve some of the problems we have keeping cleared areas from spawning new dangers, if we created some sort of occupying force to hold the location down until a settlement team could take over… working from the outside edges of an area in? Or from one side to the other?”

She looked up at Ronnie. “Eat the elephant one bite at a time. But which end of the elephant do you start at?”

Ronnie scowled at Christine, then stumped off down the hall, past rifle ranges where people were shooting at stationary targets, or eliminating live, quick-moving radroaches, and molerats. She counted no less than six other weapons ranges, four physical training galleries, a boxing ring, a weight room, and an obstacle course being run by a sweaty mob, under the critical eye of Colonel MacLeod. Another workout room was empty. 

A large common room filled with couches and comfy chairs led down one hallway to the shower, sanitary facilities, and laundry, another corridor to a cafeteria and kitchen, and the far hall led to simple barracks, row upon row of bunks facing walls lined with lockers. People wandered the complex, observing, or taking notes. It was a remarkable, and continuously growing venture, originally meant to expose the vault dwellers to what was outside their door safely, but had grown in the past years to include settlers, militia, and anyone from the vast, harsh world around them who wanted to learn and understand the environment they had to live in. 

The previously closed society of Vault 81 had benefitted from the influx, with a new thriving trade community established in the yard below the vault as well. The school breathed life into the previously ragged, hopeless people of the Commonwealth, and gave the terrorists and radiated creatures who had run wild over the land for two hundred years, reason to fear. 

Ronnie stopped in front of a peculiarly calm battle arena. The six youngsters varying in ages from ten to sixteen, and eight adults that made up the class, all sporting their very own repaired and modified armor, were taking very leisurely, immaculately precise shots. Their targets, Minutemen armored and dressed like raiders, could have easily stepped out of the line of fire, and back among the dilapidated wooden and brick walls, and dead trees strategically placed in the firing range for that reason, but were just running back and forth like ducks at an old time shooting gallery, allowing the class to exhibit their perfect marksmanship.

“General! What’s wrong with these people? They look like they know what they’re doing, but it doesn’t matter to them. Form is perfect, marksmanship is precise, but don’t they understand that out there no one cares if your shot is pretty, or if your back is straight or your arm at the cleanest angle? A less controlled shot that kills the target sooner, is better than a grave marker that reads ‘But His Form Was Perfect’. Stupid kids. They don’t seem to understand that in the Commonwealth, real raiders won’t sit still and wait to be eventually shot at. Look at them. And don’t put on that evil smile around me, missy. I can still knock you on your ass, General or not!”

Despite her brave words, Ronnie still breathed a quiet sigh of relief when the gears whirling behind Christine’s growing smile switched from her, to the impeccable performance in front of them.

“Ronnie? You. Are. A. Goddess. This is the group I wanted you to see. And in two seconds flat, you showed me everything I needed. They’ve passed all of their testing, they’re ready to level up, but something just wasn’t right to me. You are a marvel.”

Still wearing the grin that made everyone want to run for the hills, Christine patted her friend on the shoulder. “Let’s go fix some problems, shall we?”

“Ladies and gentlemen”, Christine’s voice rose above the muted battle noise. “Time to step up your game. Raiders-“

The sweating Minutemen who had been hustling around being moving targets for the ‘D-BAMS’-Dye Balls Moving at high Speeds- stepped forward.

“Ma’am!”

“Start charging the shooters, and use your damn guns. I want to see some panic fire from these people. Shooters!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“If you don’t shoot raiders quickly, you’ll die out there. Raiders are mean, cruel beyond anything you could dream up if they catch you. But they are also like Raider piñatas. Shoot them and you get all kinds of good stuff. See those guns the raiders are holding? Their armor? Those packs and ammo cans by the walls? Kill the raiders and get out of this with your lives, and all of that good loot is yours. It’s like going wasteland shopping. Remember though, to them, you’re future slaves and toys. They want your bodies, AND your stuff. I’m going to join in on this round, just to make your lives a little more interesting.” 

She picked up a knife handle loaded with dye. “Be honest and fall down if you get hit. Remember Dr. Wednesday’s combat medic class. You know the difference between being hurt, and being dead. Sergeant Shaw, please turn on some music to piss off raiders by! GO!”

Startled, they all leaped into action. 

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!”

“JUST DO IT, RONNIE! TRUST ME!” 

Shaking her head in disbelief, Ronnie tuned Minuteman Radio up to blaring, and settled back to watch.

It was glorious chaos. 

‘Raiders’ and students ran in all directions, the firing lines forgotten. People crashed into each other trying to duck behind trees and walls, D-BAMS spattered the ceiling. Christine ran around the melee tossing dirt, rocks, and branches, and shoving people. Her fist shot out, marking students and raiders alike with dye ‘knife wounds’ as she danced through the surging pandemonium.”

“COMPANY, HALT!” The deep, thundering bellow of Colonel MacLeod sliced through the turmoil, stopping everyone in their tracks instantly. “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE? General? What are you doing?!”

Christine leaned up on her elbows, and spit out a mouthful of dirt. “Dying, it would seem. Nice job, Jack.”

The dye-covered boy sitting on her back grinned smugly.

MacLeod surveyed the filthy, colorful mob with disgust. “General, this is a prime example of what I have been reporting to you for weeks. This group refuses to work together as a team. They reject the possibility of relying on someone other than themselves, and insist on tackling their targets alone, taking great damage, where if they teamed up even with one other soldier, they could be victorious without a single injury.”

Christine rolled, flipping Jack into the dirt, and stood. “Colonel MacLeod makes an excellent point.” She surveyed the group. “Is anyone still alive?”

MacLeod’s booming voice cut into the furious arguing and denials that rose. 

“STAND DOWN! YOU’RE ALL DEAD! I CAN SEE THAT MYSELF!”

“Sergeant Shaw, would you please bring me the net that’s strung across the atrium?”

“What?”

“Please. Trust me.”

“Goddamn it. I hate it when she says that,” Ronnie grumbled, disappearing down the hallway.

The General turned to the class.

“This exercise, though fun, clearly exhibited the issues with your class that almost all of your teachers have reported to me. Colonel MacLeod is very correct. You did not look to help each other, or combine with anyone else to create a more effective offense, or defense. And you don’t follow orders. Every last one of you is dead. Look at your bodies. No one was honest and fell, like I told you to do. Your pride in your skill overrides your common sense. Edmund, Corporal Tarvis came right at you shooting, but you stood there and took four bullets to the chest instead of getting to cover and firing from there. You landed a perfect bullseye right between the corporal’s eyes, but it was AFTER you were dead from those chest wounds. Another point, Jack was the only one who jumped to his melee skills when I closed with him. The rest of you have green stab wounds from my knife handle because you let me get close. See this? I have a real scuff on my cheek from where he pushed me back with his gun, then shot me when I fell back. Being honest, I fell dead. To be sure, Jack jumped on my back and shot me again in the back of the head. See the blue dye on the back of my hair? Did anyone else double tap their victims?”

The group shuffled around, mumbling “No”, “Nope”, Well… umm…”.

“Your General is right on the money.” Ronnie handed the net to Christine. “Your skill are outstanding, but you’re not ready to graduate. She brought me here to help her decide what to do with you. We just fought our way through the Commonwealth, from the Castle to here, and let me tell you, skills will only get you so far. It’s reflexes, quick choices, commitment, and teamwork that’s going to keep you alive out there. And experience. You’re not going to get that if you’re dead.”

Christine smiled at the wise old sergeant. “Experience is the most important of all the weapons that you’ll need out there. Stay alive and get some. Then stay alive and get some more-“

“Ahhh. I see where you’re going with this.” Deacon and his class of spies-in-training filed in against the back wall. “Stay alive and get more. Stay alive and live a good long life, and get lots of experience to share with your own students someday. Then get me a latte and a donut. Hi, General. Mind if we watch?” 

“Sure. You can even help. Grab some people to shove those walls and trees back, then string up the net between those two trees there. We’re going to play some volleyball.”

The room erupted into cheers.

MacLeod watched the happy crowd, his brow furrowed. “You’re rewarding them for doing everything wrong”, he said flatly.

“They did lots of things right, Colonel. And they have the skills and the knowledge. Time to pull them together.”

“Playing a game?”

“Playing a game.”

She waved to the group. “Go ahead and play. I’m watching you.”

For fifteen solid minutes, Christine, MacLeod, Ronnie, and Deacon watched while people crashed into each other, hit the ball cockeyed and into walls, and argued about the score, and blamed each other. Finally, Christine had seen enough.

“Okay, you’re terrible at this-“

The entire group broke into loud complaints. “Hey!” “I’m good! He sucks!” “I do not!”

The General took over. “No more talking. You talk, you leave. We’re going to practice skills first. Serving, bumps, sets, dinks, hits, all the things I’ve been teaching you for years that you’ve been ignoring because it’s more fun to just whang away at the ball. How does this relate to fighting supermutants?”

Teresa raised a timid hand. “Skills in fighting, like melee, or sniping need to be practiced to get them right and effective, just like skills in volleyball?”

“And?”

Silence.

Tara stepped forward, wiping at the raider face paint that was sweating into her eyes. 

“Practice shows you what you’re good at, and what you need to work on. Learn your limits.”

“And that’s why she’s on my warbird crew, folks. Well said, Tara, Teresa. Raiders! Break the groups up and run through the basics for about fifteen more minutes, then we’ll play.” 

 

The raider team cheered as Christine’s serve blasted over the net in the same exact place as her three previous serves, causing even more turmoil among the student team than the last missed return.

“MINUTEMEN, HOLD!” The General held up her hand for the ball, then tossed it to MacLeod. “I’m seeing a few problems over there, guys, that have nothing to do with your skills, and I’m tired of waiting for you to figure it out yourselves, so listen up-“

“You serve like a freak. No one can hit that.” Liri Pandopolous kicked angrily at the floor.

“I practice. Colonel MacLeod, she’s all yours after I’m done with her. Students, you’ve all been told once not to talk. It’s called following orders, and it’ll save your life someday, even if the only order you ever follow is the one in your head of Dr. Wednesday telling you how to bandage your own sucking chest wound.”

The class shuffled uncomfortably.

Christine ducked under the net and started moving people around, and pointing to the floor. “Kenna, the ball fell right at your feet. Why didn’t you try to bump it?”

The elderly woman looked embarrassed. “Too old to get there, I guess.”

“Class, Supermutants don’t care how old you are. Ferals don’t care if yesterday was your birthday. Deathclaws don’t care if you’re tired this morning, or your shoe is untied, or if your girlfriend dumped you. There are no excuses out there, people. You be where you need to be, and do what you need to do, or you or someone depending on you is going to die. Always play your top game, always give it everything you have. Those mutants and ghouls and deathclaws aren’t going to stop and say, ‘You’re hungover today? Okay, we can fight to the death tomorrow'.” 

She moved Kenna over to her starting position again. “You stand here. It’s always easier to run forward than backwards, so stay on the line, and run up to the ball, if it’s coming into your territory. Lesson here?”

“Know the area I’m responsible for, and the best way to defend it?” Kenna ventured. 

Christine smiled. “Perfect. Now Jack, you’re up here in front of her. You know you’re responsible from here-“ she gestured, “to here. Why did you go running backwards into Kenna’s area?”

“Because I could get the ball.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Yeah…”

“Four times.”

Jack sprang to attention, startling everyone. “What are my orders, ma’am!”

“Drop and give me forty push-ups, soldier!” 

She cracked up at the disbelieving shock on Jack’s face. “Just kidding. Stop being a smarty pants, and open your mind, not your mouth. And see Colonel MacLeod after class, too. Now you’re responsible for the area from the net, back to the top of Kenna’s area, so you stand on her line on offense, and run forward to any balls that come into your area, or on defense are just barely clearing the top of the net. If it’s going over your head, you need to duck, and trust Kenna to be there. Turn and be ready to receive it from her. Lesson- trust your team, support your team. Conversely, be a person your team can trust and support as well. Talk to each other. If you’re going for the ball, say ‘I got it’, so the other person can get out of your way. And you better have it, because they’re trusting you to do what you said you would. Set it up, you two. I’ll serve some to you.”

At the far side of the court, she smile with pride at the challenge in Jacks eyes, and the fierce determination in Kenna’s. How incredibly lucky Christine was to be working with such amazing, kind, loving, dedicated people. 

She blazed a serve just over the net. 

Instantly, Jack popped up and blocked it right into Tara’s surprised face. His mouth fell open. 

“I DID IT! I DID IT! I BLOCKED YOUR SERVE!”

"You did! Nice job. Next time call it.” She fired another.

“I got it!” Kenna stepped forward and bumped it right into Jack’s chest. It fell to the floor.

He fumbled after it. “Hey! I wasn’t ready.”

“Supermutants don’t care if you’re ready or not, young man. I trusted you to be there, not still congratulating yourself on your last victory. I needed you.” Kenna winked at Jack. “Go again, General!”

All afternoon, the game continued. Christine started and stopped the game dozens of times, to move people, and show corollaries between a simple sporting game, and their life and death battles with the deadly denizens of the Commonwealth. Finally, Deacon interrupted.

“Uhh, General? I know my guys are having a great time learning about death and destruction Christine-style, but they missed their lunch, and are about to miss dinner too, so I’m going to take them-“

The rest of what he had been about to say was drowned out by boo’s, grumblings, and complaints by the very students Deacon was trying to take care of. He waved his hand for silence. “Seriously guys, -“ 

“GENERAL! BROTHERHOOD!” 

A handful of people, led by the Vault overseer Gwen McNamara, raced over and pulled Chris from the arena. They hustled her toward the overseer’s office. 

Ronnie wasn’t sure what to make of the fuss as she trailed along behind. “That stupid Elder of theirs can’t still want to kill you, can he? Where are you going?”

“Not sure what he’s doing, Ronnie. He sure seems intent on capturing me though. Gwen? Where’s Jack going to go?”

“He, Sturges, and MacLeod are going to work on the broken reactor.” She struggled to make a serious face. “Very dangerous place. Electricity arcing everywhere.”

She stopped outside her office. “Shoo! Everyone go now. Chris, you and your friend need to get in the tunnel. Now.”

Ronnie watched with great interest as Gwen hit a series of taps on her terminal, and a large section of floor under the desk slid open. Christine slipped inside, and pulled Ronnie down into the darkness with her. The floor slid closed over their heads.

“What the-“

“Hang on a sec.” Christine pulled Ronnie behind her through the darkness, and shut a door. Ronnie heard the rasp of a lighter. In moments, a small lantern blazed to life.

Ronnie looked around in surprise. They were in a tiny, but cozy little apartment. Two beds and nightstand were curtained off in one corner, a sink, toilet, and shower in another. A couch, chair, and coffee table held the center of the room, a desk and overflowing bookshelf stood along one wall, and Christine was poking around in the fridge on the far wall, next to a table and three chairs.

She stood up, a ripe, fresh apple in each hand. “Try this.”

Ronnie was stunned. “Where… where did you get that? I’d only heard of them. Is it real? Unradiated?”

Christine tossed one to her friend, and crunched into the other with a big bite. “Iffff reeeal. I goff iff fum Riffet Fity in thg Caffital Wafelandf. Broff fum to doffer Fenske. Sheef magum…” She swallowed. “She made them from the seeds and dna of the apple itself I think. No apple trees yet. Dr. Li was originally working on the project there. These are soooo good. If I close my eyes, for just a moment, it feels like I’m home. Apple-picking in the fall at Beesome Orchards, mom’s pies, cider with cheddar and maple sugar candy…” 

Ronnie looked from the apple in her hands, to the General lying back on the couch with her eyes closed, with dawning suspicion. “Christine, the Brotherhood had a major manhunt for Dr. Li a few years ago. She escaped from their airship. Did… did you have anything to do with that?”

One eye cracked open at her, then the General sat up with a sigh. “I have lots to do with any number of things, here, and keeping an eye on some friends in the Capital Wasteland.”

“Do you drag them all over hell’s half acre too?”

Christine grinned. Ronnie may not understand ‘droids’, but she had definitely picked up’ hell’s half acre’ quickly enough. 

“When I need to. I go a couple of times a year. Want to come with me next time? You’ve been in that Castle forever. Your expertise has benefitted many soldiers, strengthening the Minutemen, and helping to create us as we are today. But the most you’ve seen of battle since you’ve been there is firing down at the occasional raider from the walls. Tell me you weren’t having just a little bit of fun laying supermutants and ferals in their graves with me.”

The crusty old woman glared at her young superior. Damn it if that girl didn’t make a lot of sense sometimes. 

“I understand,” she said grudgingly. “But you listen to me, missy. I’ve done my time as a foot soldier, and I remember it and what it taught me as clearly as the day it happened. Don’t expect me to be happy about that stunt you pulled. The next time, you pick me up in that warbird of yours, or you can kiss my hard-working old ass goodbye. And you just leave me out of your little jaunts to hell and back. I have plenty to do right here. Do you understand?”

Instead of being angry, as Ronnie had expected her to be after that little ultimatum, the damn General sat there, barely-concealed humor twinkling in her eyes. 

“The General has heard your report and will give it due consideration. Thank you for your frankness, Sergeant Shaw.”

Humpf. Ronnie dragged her chair around, and glared at the wall. 

 

“And how is your Vault faring, Overseer McNamara?” the polite young Brotherhood of Steel soldier asked, craning her neck around as she scanned every corner of the atrium. “I understand the General of the Minutemen lent you her top mechanic some time ago. I hope your repairs have gone smoothly.”

“Why yes, the Vault is doing very well, thank you for asking. Sturges has been a godsend. His team in Sanctuary has taken over the Minuteman projects there with great success, allowing him to remain here as long as he likes. Would you like some tea?”

These transparent visits from the Brotherhood always tickled Gwen immensely. She knew the Elder still had them combing the Commonwealth for Christine and Jack, even though years had passed since the incident. Gwen was of the firm opinion he should just let it go. Christine had won that battle. He should accept his defeat gracefully, and move on. But then, Chris had quoted Elder Maxson as saying, ‘I never give up anything. Ever.’ Maybe he was simply still chasing his wish for Jack to be his squire.

It may have been a little bit of all of those reasons, but Gwen knew better. Christine had stolen Maxson’s heart. He was searching for her, reaching out to his love. 

He could have stormed the Vault, every settlement to include the Castle, and scoured the Commonwealth clean with the might of his Brotherhood forces to find her. He certainly had the resources, and in the beginning, he had loosed every soldier he could spare on a massive manhunt for her. Soldiers had even been stationed at every settlement “to help with defense”. He had believed it was only a matter of time before she was caught.

But what he hadn’t taken into account was Christine’s cleverness, and her willingness to exploit Maxson’s big fat blind spot- his belief that he was all-mighty, all-knowing, and she was just a simple, very lucky vault dweller. He couldn’t imagine even the most remote possibility that she could command the Minutemen, much less continue to care for her settlers from a distance, or that the settlers in turn would do anything to keep her safe. Communications were coordinated by Minuteman Radio and pip boy. Shipments of upgraded weapons, armor, and supplies gleaned from all over the Commonwealth by the industrious woman, came in regularly with the provisioners. It was always worth a good laugh when some of the mannequins that ridiculously over-populated the Commonwealth, arrived at the Minuteman communities. It was her own personal inside joke of passing anonymous bodies under the noses of the Brotherhood. She joked that one day she’d paint herself white and deliver herself, and they’d never even realize it was her. 

If the Minuteman villagers needed her to be physically present, she would lure a few supermutants, or a yao guai or two near enough for these ‘defenders’ to need to give chase. While the sentries were gone, she dealt with whatever her people needed. The Minutemen themselves got a huge kick out of misleading the hapless soldiers, but as the General put it, ‘If Maxson can use them, so can we.’ Christine’s absolute genius at simultaneously tangling the brotherhood soldiers up in battles and chases that rid the settlers of actual threats to their communities, had provided every single settlement with multiple uninterrupted Friday Night celebrations. The most inventive ways the Brotherhood pawns had been duped by the settlers was an awards competition now, recognized at all of the large Minuteman gatherings. 

As the Elder’s defeats had added up, the pressure had waned. Goodwill in the Commonwealth gained by the Brotherhood’s many victories over their irradiated and synth foes, could not be jeopardized by what was clearly beginning to be seen as one man’s war on the General of the Minutemen. 

Now, only small groups of well-mannered, diplomatic soldiers visited, hoping to catch a glimpse of the General, Jack, or evidence that they were hiding nearby. Gwen lived for these games. Christine had pronounced her ‘Queen of Messing with the Brotherhood’, and didn’t she just define the title!

Gwen’s life had become so much more fun since she had let Christine into Vault 81 that day, so many years ago.

“We’ve made some changes since the last time you were here. Would you like to see them?” Gwen ushered the soldiers down a corridor. “I can only spend a few hours showing you around, but my partner Lynda would be delighted to take over when I have to leave. You’ll love the caulking in the shower rooms. It’s remarkably more effective than our past attempts. You know, one of our reactors is acting up. Dr. Forsythe has had remarkable success in resuscitating six of the people who have tried to get in and repair it, but the damn thing keeps zapping them. The Brotherhood teaches you how to repair these things though, right? It would be wonderful if you could get in there and repair it. No? Well, let’s just go see that amazing caulking then, shall we?”

The long-suffering Brotherhood soldiers politely fell in behind her, and disappeared down the corridor.

 

Late that night, Lynda caught sight of Jack coming down the stairs, and waved him over, holding a shhhh finger to her lips. She leaned toward the door of the classroom, listening intently. Curious, Jack joined her. 

“Lynda, it’s almost midnight. Why are we listening through the door? I thought Christine was playing her piano in there”, he whispered. “I’m pretty sure I heard her say that’s where she’d be if anyone needed her. Just go in.”

Waving her hand like a flag caught in a violent wind, Lynda shushed him down. “Quiet, Jack! Seriously! I’m not sure who’s in there with her. His voice is harsh and mean, even though she has him singing.”

“Is she in trouble? Does she sound like she needs help?”

Lynda shrugged, and motioned Jack to continue listening with her. 

Inside, he could hear Christine playing the piano. The melody was slow, sad. Mournful. Beautiful.

A deep, growling voice began to sing.

“Hello darkness, my old friend,

I’ve come to talk with you again,

Because a vision softly creeping,

Left its seed while I was sleeping… Christine, why is vision softly creeping? It should attack! Use power and strength to get seed!”

“Egad, Strong. Remember the milk of human kindness. Beating people up isn’t always the best way to do something. Sometimes if you understand the person will take the seed better quietly, you don’t need to attack. You kind of nicely sneak it in there.”

“Sneak is bad. Weak.”

“Sometimes it’s very useful to be able to sneak. Remember when I snuck up on the behemoth and stuck a grenade in his pocket-“

The growling voice laughed loudly. “Yes! His butt exploded! I understand! I can attack him, but I cannot make his butt explode. I can only do that if I am sneaky.”

“Exactly.” Christine’s patient voice sounded like she was trying not to laugh. “Sometimes the way to do something is kindly, softly. The vision snuck the seed into the man’s head, and the idea exploded there enough to make him act on it. Remember the song? He tried to share his vision, but the people wouldn’t listen. Softly didn’t work, loudly didn’t work. I’m sad for those people, Strong. They were too afraid of change. Not like you. You aren’t afraid. You change, you learn, you think. Your brothers are kind of like those people in the song. They could change, but they won’t. They’ll never be as smart as you. They’ll just do the same old thing over and over again every day. You learn new things all the time, different ways to do what they do even better. It will be up to you to plant the seed in their minds to grow and learn. Kindness is not bad or weak. It’s just another way to do something, and everything has a best way to do it. Like the pie I brought you earlier.”

“It good pie. I like pie. Maria makes good pie.”

“She does indeed. Now when I brought you the pie, I handed it to you so you could eat it. I gave it to you kindly. A supermutant might give you pie by slamming it on your back. In both examples, you get the pie, but which way would you prefer to get it, Strong?”

“You give it to me kindly, and I can eat it. If supermutant slams it on my back, I cannot eat it. I see, Christine. Kindly sometimes right way to do things.”

“I agree with you. Want to sing some more? You have a remarkable voice. I never knew supermutants could sing.”

“Supermutants not sing. We fight!”

Lynda and Jack looked at each other with alarm. Christine was in there with a supermutant! She had brought a supermutant into their vault!

Lynda shoved Jack toward the main corridor. “Go get Gwen!”

“What are you going to do?”

“Stay here and… oh I don’t know, Jack! Just go get her!”

“But the General doesn’t seem to be in trouble. She was almost laughing there for a minute. Maybe we should wait.”

Lynda bit her lip. Christine would never bring harm to the vault. But… a supermutant!

“O… kay. But the second it sounds like she isn’t in control of it, you run!”

“Deal.”

They both leaned in toward the door again. 

Christine’s voice was calm, normal. “Maybe singing is another seed you can plant with your brothers-“

“Now I want pie.”

“I know, right? Talking about pie got me all hungry for it again. When you’re done learning the song, let’s go sneak up to the kitchen and see if Maria has any more in the fridge.”

“It is not weak to sneak for pie. I will sneak for pie.”

Jack and Lynda heard soft music being played on the piano. The deep, coarse voice began to sing.

“Hello darkness, my old friend,

I’ve come to talk with you again,

Because a vision softly creeping, 

Left a pie while I was sleeping, AHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA CHRISTINE!”

Jack grinned, hearing her guffaw at her friend. 

“Whoo! And on that note, Strong, let’s give up for the night, and go hunt down some pie. Oh good grief. STRONG! DON’T RUN!”

The door flew open. 

Jack scrambled back, flattening himself against the wall beside the door. Flailing, Lynda fell backwards onto her butt.

“NONONONO! GET BACK!” Lynda scrabbled around wildly for a weapon. 

She snatched up a metal bucket full of cold, soapy mop water. “RUN JACK!”

She threw it.

Water crashed against the huge chest of the very startled supermutant. He roared in surprise and confusion at the terrified little woman on the floor, who was clinging to her bucket in fear.

“CHRIIIIIISTINE! WHY DOES SHE-“

“WHAT THE…Oh, hang on Strong. Lynda-“

Lynda’s face turned toward Christine, but her eyes didn’t budge from the wet supermutant. 

“CHRSITINE! YOU BROUGHT A SUPERMUTANT INTO OUR VAULT! WHY IS THERE A SUPERMUTANT IN OUR VAULT! WHY DID YOU-“

“Christine, she is angry at you.”

“Yes Strong, she most definitely is.”

“GET IT OUT! GET IT OUT OF THE VAULT!”

“Christine, I am wet.”

“Yes, Strong, you are. I’ll get you a-“

“GET IT OUT RIGHT NOW! CHRISTINE, HE’S GOING TO TEAR THE PLACE UP AND KILL EVERYONE!”

“Christine, she thinks I will hurt people. Strong not hurt people. Strong likes people.”

“I know. She’s just afraid. She’s never seen a smart supermutant before. She’ll be okay in a minute.”

“CHRISTINE I SWEAR TO… it likes people?” Lynda was thoroughly confounded. “He… he won’t… you know. Rip me apart and eat me? JACK! GET BACK!”

Lynda watched in astonishment as the supermutant gently took the towel Jack was handing him.

“Thank you… Jack”, he rumbled. Jack nodded mutely.

Christine had to fight against the delighted emotional rush surging through her. She wanted to dance, and hop, and sing, and swing Jack around, and hug him tight. Unexpectedly nose-to-nose with a supermutant on the warpath for pie, he hadn’t panicked and run. He had listened and observed, then acted on his own assessment that Strong was safe to approach, though he still remained cautious. Gwen and Lynda were doing an outstanding job raising him to be his own man. She wanted to swing them around and hug them too.

“Strong,” she said, “I would like to introduce Lynda and Jack. They are very good friends of mine. Lynda, Jack, this is Strong.”

The supermutant stuck out his hand so abruptly, he almost knocked Jack over. He tried again, more slowly. 

“I am Strong.”

Without hesitation, Jack grasped the huge green hand as best as he could and shook it firmly. “I’m Jack. I’m pleased to meet you, Strong.”

The urge to dance rushed up Christine’s body again.

Lynda’s handshake was distinctly more tentative and brief. She turned to Christine, reproach burning in her eyes. “Does Gwen… ?”

“She does”, Gwen said, leaning against the wall behind them. “She knew weeks ago, and approved of the visit.”

She sauntered over to her wife and kissed her soundly. “I would have told you sooner, but… Well, would you look at that!”

Strong looked down at the Ashes, Erin’s cat happily stropping itself against his legs. “It is a cat, Gwen.”

She laughed. “Yes, Strong, it is.”

“Can I touch it?”

Gwen looked at Christine with alarm.

“Yes, Strong, but be gentle.” Christine stood closer, nonchalantly placing her hands where she could rescue the small creature if he became too enthusiastic. “It would be very, very easy to break Ashes.”

To their surprise, Strong carefully sat on the floor, and opened his palm to the cat. Ashes sniffed delicately.

If such a thing could exist, the sound of four jaws hitting the ground would have echoed through the corridor, as the cat licked Strong’s palm, then climbed into his leg. Ashes stood, resting one soft paw on his chest, and stretched up to sniff at Strong’s face. He lowered it politely. 

“She is purring”, he announced to his thunderstruck audience. “She likes me.”

“Yes”, Christine said faintly. “She does. Be very careful with her.”

“I will not touch her. I will let her touch me. I do not want to hurt her. I like her.”

Ashes continued to nuzzle his chin and neck a moment longer, then hopped down and wandered up the hall.

“She likes me” Strong said proudly. He stood up. “Christine, I will sneak for pie now.”

“Right behind you, pal. We might not need to sneak though.”

She gestured behind him to a dozen gaping residents of Vault 81 peering around the corner of the hallway leading to the atrium, among them, the wonderful pie maker herself, Maria Summerset.

“MARIA!” Strong was delighted. “I WILL SNEAK FOR PIE!”

She straightened up and cleared her throat. “Ahh… I… I have a pie in the fridge. Would you like the whole thing… um… Strong?”

“YES!”

 

The early morning hush comforted Christine as she sat in the Summerset’s café, nursing a hot cup of tea. The tangy carrot flower scent wafted around her face, making it difficult to concentrate on the report she was writing for Preston. The raiders at Easy City Downs had been eliminated, and the residents of Nordhagen Beach could rest easy. Unfortunately, that was not a detailed enough debrief for her second-in-command, so here she was trying to remember enough of the op to placate him. Honestly, she ran a dozen or more missions a week, plus killing feral ghouls or glowing radroaches or whatever jumped out at her on the way to or from a trouble spot. 

Like the BADTFL raiders she had to wipe out on her way to Bunker Hill. She was on a mission for Joe Savoldi, minding her own business, and six raiders had jumped out at her, so of course she had to clean all of the raiders from the area, and the bugs at the Poseidon Energy Turbines, and mirelurks at Irish Pride Shipyard, the supermutants at West Everett Estates, ghouls at Med-Tek, more raiders at Vault 75, and the deathclaw at the Old Gullet Sinkhole, which had been her actual goal. On her way back had been the raiders at Slocum’s Joe, and the supermutants at the Medford Memorial Hospital, and the synths around the Malden Center Subway entrance, and… And she had to write a damn report for every single encounter. She was never going to get anything done if she had to keep writing report after fussy little report about every damn thing. Didn’t he understand that after years of constant campaigns, one battle blurred into the next, that they were all the same fight, and it was almost impossible to differentiate one from another anymore? Aaaaargh!

Christine breathed deeply of the fragrant tea. Maybe the details would come to her.

“General?”

Christine jumped. Wrapped up in her stupid paperwork, she hadn’t even heard Jack approach.

“OY! Don’t sneak up on me like that! What are you doing up so early?”

“Rescuing you from your reports, by the looks.”

She pushed the pile aside with relief. “Well thank you for that. What’s on your mind? Want some tea?”

“No, thanks. I wanted to… I kinda wanted to…”

Christine watched him fidget. She nodded encouragingly. 

“Sometimes if I’m not entirely comfortable with what I need to say, I just go ahead and blurt it out, and rely on whoever I’m talking to, to take it as I meant it, or ask what I mean. I’ve found there’s very little in my life that’s easy to say.”

Jack sat across from her, and took her hand. 

Christine smiled. “Must be terrible, if you’re trying to hold me down. You know, I can still smack you with the other hand, right?”

He stared at her, alarmed. 

“Just kidding, Jack.”

“Oh, okay.” He looked relieved.

“I’ll just pull this hand away from you and smack you. Or kick. Depends on what you say.”

“Christine!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop. What’s on your mind, honey?”

Jack released her hand, laying it palm down on the table. Very deliberately, he patted it.

“Christine, tell me about finding me when I was small.”

Christine’s heart leaped into her throat. 

“Did Gwen…? Who… How do you… What do you know?”

Surprised, Jack watched pain bind Christine, wrapping her in layer upon layer of hurt, and anguish, and anger. 

The General was invincible, a strong, focused woman who dealt with everything, tiny or heinous, head-on. Determination and strength radiated from her in battle, kindness and caring when she was with her people. Comfort. Security. She was fierce, but oh so loving. 

Formidable, and… broken.

He had done this to her with a single question, Jack thought miserably.

He saw the tears threatening her eyes. Her pain reached out to him, a shifting demon Christine was struggling to control.

He knew her past, the family she had lost, the soft woman who had lived in the world before the war, then had woken up to a dying shell of everything she had ever known, peopled with danger, and sickness, and death. But she had faced it all. Stood up to it with glowing iron determination, and had beaten her walking nightmare into submission. She stood tall and determined, pulling the wretched survivors who skittered through the wastes trying to survive just one more day, into the safety of her arms, shielding them so they could begin again in peace. She was the sword, the gun, the shield. 

Watching her struggle, Jack realized that under all of her strength, she was as human as him. Things hurt her. Things made her afraid. He hadn’t even considered it. His question had cracked a wall deep inside of her, and pain that had been denied for seven years was leaking out. Because of him. Because he had to know. 

“Gwen told me that she and Lynda weren’t my real family. That you couldn’t save my mother, but you saved me and brought me here for them to raise. She said if I wanted to know any more than that, I’d have to ask you. So I’m asking. I want to understand. Tell me. Tell me about how you found me. Why do I have to disappear whenever the Brotherhood shows up? And whatever it is that Gwen won’t tell me.”

Christine looked at the calm, earnest boy… no, young man. If he was old enough to ask, he was old enough to hear the truth. Jack was ten years old. A boy in her old world before the war. Here, he was equal to a man of sixteen. And he was ready to hear his own story. 

But was she ready to tell it? Re-live it?

“Christine?”

Yes. For him. 

“Jack, we had flown my warbird to the Roxbury area, down south, by Fallons, and Shaw High School-“

“That’s the area you said we weren’t ready to field trip to, right?”

“Right.”

“Who’s Maxson? Is he the leader of the Brotherhood Maxson?”

Oh my god, he’s jumping right into it. “He was a man who was special to me at the time. Yes, he’s Elder Arthur Maxson, leader of the Brotherhood of Steel. He helped me save you.”

“He’s not a bad man? I got the impression from Gwen and Lynda that he was. Why have I had to disappear whenever the Brotherhood showed up then?”

“He and I fought over you. Literally. We pounded on each other some, then while I was out cold, he and his Brotherhood thugs stole you.”

“Stole me? Why would he want me?”

“He grew up in the Brotherhood. He wanted you to do the same. I wanted you to grow up and make up your own mind.”

“What’s wrong with the Brotherhood? What would they have done with me?”

Christine took a deep breath, and slowly let it out. “Jack, I truly didn’t want to bias you on this. It’s only fair that if you wanted to join the Brotherhood of Steel, I would support you. But I can’t tell you the story and not show how I feel about them.”

“I thought they were good guys. They kill the bad guys, as Rob puts it.”

“They do. But did you know they kill intelligent ghouls like Hancock, and your friend Barry, too? And anyone they think is a synth?”

“Like Horatio?”

“Egad Jack! What makes you think he’s a synth?”

“He and Deacon told me.”

Christine closed her eyes, praying for patience. “Deacon, huh? That man and I are going to have words.”

“Again.” 

“Again.”

“Christine, tell me what you really think about the Brotherhood. I’m sure there will be people who will come along and speak with joy about the shining white knights of the Commonwealth. It’s only fair that I hear the ugly underbelly as well.”

This is one amazing young man, Christine thought. Only ten? His mind and heart were definitely older.

“Okay, you asked for it. I dislike them for many reasons. The synth and intelligent ghoul thing absolutely. And Strong is one of a kind, but Maxson would kill him anyway, just for being a supermutant, and say Strong would revert to his true nature at any moment and kill us all in or sleep. The Brotherhood are bullies, who impose their will because they have firepower to back up their threats. They basically want to control the Commonwealth, take every little bit of technology they can find, theirs or not, and keep people ignorant. They want to destroy the Institute, and I understand their fear of being replaced by a synth, but that’s no longer a threat. Stimpaks, and Rad-X and all kinds of good things have come from the Institute, and still do. Like the seed samples Dr. Penske works with. The Brotherhood wants to keep us needing them, to pay them for doing what we’re already doing now- defending ourselves, and rebuilding our world. They want to tear the Commonwealth down, and build it back up the way they want it, not the way we ourselves do. I can’t get behind any of that. I believe we can do it ourselves, without anyone’s boot on our necks.”

“Stand in hell.”

“What did you say? Where did you hear that?”

“Hancock. He said you’d rather stand on your own two feet in Hell, than serve in Heaven on your knees. He loves that about you. He said so.”

“He’s right. I’d rather fight every damn minute of every damn day and stand up on my own, than have someone dangling me upright by a fist around my throat. But not everyone feels that way. Don’t get me wrong. Discipline and courage are outstanding traits. I just don’t believe the only place to find them is in the Brotherhood. And I don’t like brainwashing. If you spend any time with Brotherhood soldiers, you’ll see that they all say the same things, exactly as it was beaten into their heads. They can’t think for themselves anymore.”

“But you loved Maxson.”

“I did. And despite everything I don’t like about him and the warmongering hoard he controls, I still do.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Jack, I kind of don’t either. It make no sense at all. I had met him once, before the fight at Fallons, but I didn’t know who he was. He was almost dead. I saved him from some supermutants who had shot down his vertibird, and fell in love with him in an instant. I disappeared the next morning, as soon as I saw who he was on his dog tag.” She giggled briefly. “I stole one, right off of his neck.”

“Do you still have it?”

“I do.” 

She continued. “It was almost a year later when raiders shot down another of his rickety little vertibirds over by the Federal Ration Stockpile. I rescued him there too.”

Jack sniffed. “He doesn’t sound like much of a leader if he has to keep being rescued.”

“I would say he’s less of a leader because he’d rather keep throwing away lives and planes, than build them to be sturdier, and to train his pilots better, like techniques to avoid ground-to-air missile fire. It bothers the hell out of me that he doesn’t take better care of his people. It’s like they’re just the tools he has to work with, and he doesn’t understand that they are humans, with needs and futures of their own.”

“Christine, he’s a monster.”

“And this is my problem. I can see all of this, Jack. If I hadn’t met him, and you were telling me these things about him, I’d put him at the top of the list of people to accidentally kill. But I fell in love with him before I knew any of this. And stupid me believes I can make him see that the Institute has great potential for good, and that human synths are people and killing them for something they have no control over is plain blind genocide. That I can find a way for him to understand intelligent ghouls are not ticking time bombs. They’re good people, with years and years of life experience, hidden under bad skin. That he doesn’t have to own the people of the Commonwealth, he just has to help them.”

“You mean, you’re going to make him change? Gwen said that’s impossible. People can change themselves, but you can’t change them. They have to make the choice to do it, not you. Hey, if you’re not going to eat your toast, can I have it?”

She slid the plate over.

Christine watched Jack smear a big spoonful of jam on the toast, and stuff half of it in his mouth. He scooped up a blop that had fallen to the table, with his finger, and shoved that in too.

Her funny little wise old man-boy child. Just like that jam, he managed to put his finger right on her problem, then scoop it over to where it belonged. She wasn’t going to change Arthur. No one was going to change Arthur but himself.

But maybe if she…

“Christine? Finish the story. Please. Elder Maxson crashed at the FedRat and you saved him. Then what? How does this fit into how you rescued me?”

“Oh. I brought him to Sanctuary, then we had an emergency call from the Fallons area. He went with us, helped us kill a ton of supermutants, then raiders from the hospital there hit my warbird with a mini nuke. Cait and Beckett got the warbird back to Sanctuary, but Arthur and I went after the raiders. The bastards taunted us by… oh.”

“What?”

“I doesn’t matter. We killed the raiders inside-“

“It matters to me.”

If he’s old enough to ask, he’s old enough to know. 

Christine looked up at the big, round overseer’s window that overlooked the atrium. She wasn’t surprised to see Gwen standing there, watching them. 

Gwen nodded at Christine, and moved out of sight.

Christine’s eyes dropped to the very serious young man sitting across from her, then back up to the empty window again. 

It should be heart-shaped, she thought, her heart breaking for the dear, beautiful women who had raised Jack exactly as Christine had wanted them to. Gwen and Lynda hadn’t taken in a child for themselves, she realized. Jack had been hers all along. They had just been keeping him safe.

Tears clouded her eyes.

“Jack, the raiders had almost killed your mother. They threw her out the window at us, with one of their fucking meat hooks in her back. I couldn’t believe she was still alive, even just that little bit. I was about to shoot her myself when Arthur did. It was a mercy. A clean shot that ended her suffering instantly.”

She pulled Jacks numb hands into her own, trying to warm them. His eyes were huge in is white face. He stared, unblinking, into Christine’s face. 

“She’s buried at the Memory Trees, Jack. I can take you there.”

“Tell me more.”

Christine squeezed his hands. “The rest isn’t so painful. You’ve heard the worst of it, honey.”

“Please,” he choked out.

“We killed all of the raiders. Then, in one of the rooms upstairs, we found you where your mother had hidden you, in a cupboard. We took you to Egret Tours with us. The next day, Arthur and I fought over you, and he took you to the Prydwyn.”

“But he knocked you out first.”

“Well, to be fair, I did hit him first. Hard. Twice. But I couldn’t let him take you and turn you into one of his blind little Maxson-bots, before you could even choose for yourself.”

“And you stole me back.”

“I did. You should take more of Deacon’s classes. He jokes around a lot so you don’t see it at first, but he’s a very, very intelligent man. His training in disguises has been one of the most used weapons in my arsenal. It allowed me to sneak right under the nose of his finest officer, and take you away. The paladin even handed you to me. Then Cait, Rob, and I brought you to Gwen and Lynda. They’re both very wise, very loving women. They understood exactly what I wanted for you- to grow up into your own man, who makes up his own mind.”

“And am I?”

“Jack, you just bumped noses with a supermutant. And instead of panicking like Lynda did, or run like she told you to do, you handed Strong a towel. Yes, you are your own man.”

“Are you proud of me?”

“Oh, honey!” Christine slid onto Jacks bench and hugged him tightly. “I couldn’t be prouder. Look at you! Look at who you are. I love you so much, every inch of you, inside and out. You are… something amazing.”

They stayed hugged together in their little snuggle bundle for a long time, neither wanting to let go. 

Jack traced a small scar below Christine’s ear. “I remember that. I remember watching it while I fell asleep on your shoulder.”

“You couldn’t! You were only three!”

“You have one just below your collarbone too. It looks like a cats face with whiskers. I remember it when you were washing me.”

Her hand flew to her mouth.

“And I remember your wet hair, and how you smelled just like you smell now. I remember how he smelled too. Like a dad. And you smelled like a mom. And we felt like a family. I remember how the Prydwyn smelled too. And you… you were gone.”

Christine touched the tear that was sliding down the side of his nose, catching it before it slipped into his mouth, letting her own run unimpeded.

“I’m glad you came back to me, Christine. I’m glad you’ve always come back. I didn’t remember your face, but I remember how you felt. You felt like love. I don’t remember my other mother at all. I just remember you. You’re my mom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Santa, I would like lots of useful thoughts from my readers for Christmas, and for the holidays to treat everyone kindly.
> 
> Time to get back on the trail of the Institute.


	40. Phenomenological Reduction Involves Reflection on the Contents of Conscious Acts of the Mind in its Own Right- Edmund Husserl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naked men, and a rather alarming glimpse inside Christine's mind.

Chapter 40

Of all of his hideouts, the Minuteman communities, Christine’s little caches, and the myriad places he was welcome, or called home, Diamond City was Deacon’s favorite place in the Commonwealth. 

Sanctuary was well on its way to becoming a real town, with homes, shops, a school, library, community garden, trader outposts, a tidy little hotel, and a whole slew of little cottage industries, all watched over by eight separate guard towers that were manned around the clock. The town had already overflowed the banks of the little island, and had absorbed the Red Rocket settlement on its march into Concord. Concord itself had been cleared of raiders, and settlers had begun the back-breaking work of making the buildings serviceable. Abernathy Village to the west, had begun to sprawl toward Sanctuary. Before long, the two would meet. The General was thrilled with the expansion, as long as there were enough Minutemen to keep the settled areas safe. But it was a little too thriving. There were just too many people for Deacon’s tastes, and no place to find peace.

As home and headquarters of the Commonwealth Minutemen, the Castle was only slightly smaller, with amenities limited by the training areas needed for the Minutemen. The General was still collecting data on whether or not the ruins inland of the Castle were suitable for re-colonization. Once the area was reliably cleared of hostiles, the Castle would quickly grow into the largest city in the Commonwealth. 

The Castle was also made of solid stone, and was too cold.

Christine’s latest idea had been to encourage settlers to form “town nucleus groups”, as she called it. Multiple Minuteman families, that included farmers, soldiers, builders, a radio operator, and whatever assets were needed to venture out and begin a viable settlement of their own, were being created. The Monaghans, a family of traders that had been the first to test the potential, now lived in Monaghan Village, a burgeoning settlement built from the old town next to the former Beantown Brewery. With the help of the Minutemen, the brewery had been cleared of raiders, and was almost ready to go into production on Commonwealth Gold- a beer made from razorgrain mash and hubflower. Christine had confided to him that so far it tasted pretty terrible, but the General never squashed the ambitions of her settlers, for any reason. The Monaghans were determined people. They’d figure it out.

It had potential, but there were so few people, a newcomer who hadn’t been in the nucleus from the start would be noticed immediately. If there was one thing Deacon hated, it was being noticeable. His life had been built on his ability to blend in. To be UN-noticeable. No, places like Monaghan Village were not for him.

Despite his many housing opportunities, they all had a very serious drawback of one kind or another, but to Deacon, they all shared a single, grievous malady. One that made every single one spectacularly inferior to a man who spent all of his time in other people’s clothes.

He couldn’t walk around naked.

Well, he could, but come on! Walls were missing. Windows were broken. Doors didn’t lock. And people were constantly around, chatting and bothering him with their concern for his well-being. How was he today? Any big plans? Why he was sitting on the couch naked? Did his clothes perhaps need mending immediately? Nosy, nosy, NOSY!

And as if that wasn’t enough, Dog and Sammi had developed an unholy fascination with his personal junk. His manly bits. His most sensitive, and favorite part of himself. The dogs could be over by Red Rocket, but as soon as he started to remove his pants, BOOM! Here they came, sticking their noses in all sorts of unwelcome places. It was like they had radar for the sound of his zipper.

Deacon snorted. If there was a nose poking his personal love compass, it sure as Hell better be attached to a beautiful lover!

He didn’t have his own apartment in Diamond City, but Christine’s was perfect, he thought contentedly, as he tossed his shirt on a bookcase, and his pants on the kitchen table. He stretched out on her couch, enjoying the feel of air circulating in places that were really starting to need air circulation. Squinting intently, he tossed one sock on the overhead light fixture. The other bounced off and fell to the floor, but he didn’t care. He was finally naked, on a comfy couch, and reading the latest edition of Publick Occurrences. No windows, no drafts, doors that locked, and no creatures, human or canine, sticking their noses where they didn’t belong. He could take a well-earned vacation here any time he wanted. As long as Christine didn’t find out.

Ahhhh, life was good. Deacon closed his eyes, and let the newspaper fall over his face. 

Gathering intelligence was his life. He knew exactly where the General of the Commonwealth Minutemen was at all times, therefore he knew when a spa day in Diamond City was on his calendar. And right now she was off with Piper, trying to find Diamond City’s missing detective, Nick Valentine. 

Now if Christine had just asked, Deacon would have been delighted to inform her that Park Street Station was where Skinny Malone and his thugs were holding Nick captive. Had she but asked, she might have found his discovery of an unfinished vault down in the subway tunnel fascinating and useful. If he had revealed to her the layout of the vault, where Skinny’s boys were usually stationed, and where exactly Nick was being held, she might have even hugged him. 

And that would have been the only way this day could have gotten better. Christine’s hugs were better than caps. He’d rather have a stash of her hugs than caps any day.

But, hugs aside, she hadn’t asked, which kind of offended him. Anyway, he needed some Me Time. She could handle herself. She’d be fine.

Deacon wandered over to the kitchen and helped himself to a drink, and some of the new pressed fruit bars that some folks at the Starlight Drive-In were experimenting with. Christine always had the latest stuff. Good or bad, everyone had something to show her, or give her, or ask her to try. Like the Commonwealth Gold. Ick.

It was probably the hugs. She gave out hugs like candy. Christine was a very huggy person. A hug-aholic. A hug-ophile. Her hug-ocity was almost as legendary as she was. She welcomed with hugs. She congratulated with hugs. She consoled with hugs. Sometimes she just hugged whoever was near if something made her very happy. She hugged everyone, even Ham, the bouncer at the Third Rail in Goodneighbor. Deacon still couldn’t believe Ham let her, but he did. The ghoul even actually sort of smiled. It was like she was his favorite granddaughter or something.

He grabbed another fruit bar, flopped down on the couch, laid the newspaper over his face, and settled in for a good nap.

Comfortable and dozing, Deacon was not ready for the front door to fly open.

“AAAAACK! DEACON! WHAT THE HELL?!”

“CHRISTINE!” 

Deacon leaped up, scattering his newspaper to the floor. He scurried to the bedroom, snatching up the clothing he had tossed everywhere, on the way. Dog pushed past Christine, and chased after his friend.

Piper peeked over her shoulder. “Was that Deacon?”

“Oh yes. A little more than I’m used to seeing, but definitely Deacon.” Christine started to giggle.

Nick shut the door behind them. “Did I miss something? I was running a diagnostic.”

“Just tomorrow’s headline, Nick.” Piper held her hands in front of her to frame the potentially epic edition of the Publick. “‘Railroad Spy Get Caught in Diamond City With More Than Just His Guard Down.’ That ought to sell a few!”

Nick and Christine hooted with laughter. “Should we call Security?”

“Oh yes, let’s!”

“NO! Don’t you dare, Piper!” Deacon came half-hopping, half-stumbling down the stairs, trying to pull on his shoes, and push Dog away at the same time. “And who the Hell told you I was a Railroad spy? That’s a load of brahmin shit! I’m just a very inconspicuous man. Now look what you’ve done! I’m all discombobulated. Diamond City Guard helmet, and pastor’s vestments. Wait-“ 

He disappeared around the corner again. Dog barked joyfully and ran back up the stairs after him, thoroughly enjoying their game of Chase and Snuff Your Nuts.

Christine shook her head in amusement. “Ahh Deacon. You do keep my life interesting.” She headed for the kitchen. “There’re some more clothes to add to your stash in the suitcase under the bed, and something behind the door, by the way.”

Dinner preparations suffered interruption after interruption, as Deacon came barreling into the kitchen to show off his new duds, followed by Dog.

“Look!” he said, spreading his arms wide so they could take in his magnificence. “Beaded jacket and tuxedo pants!” He ran back upstairs. “Dog! Will you stop that?!”

Ten seconds later, Deacon and Dog were back. “Atom Cat jacket and jeans! Christine, where do you get this stuff? You’re amazing!” 

“Would you believe I got that one at the Atom Cats Garage?”

Deacon socked her in the shoulder, kissed her cheek, and ran back upstairs, Dog hot on his heels.

His muffled voice drifted down the stairs. “Feathered dress, postman’s uniform, with hat, and OOOOOOOO!”

Chris winked at Piper. “Told you he’d love it.”

“Yeah, but it isn’t like he can wear it anywhere. Not going to blend in wearing that!”

With the regal mien of Zeus descending from Mount Olympus, Deacon paced into the kitchen, wearing a D.B. Tech varsity uniform. On his head were the ragged remains of…

“Is that a… mascot head?” Nick bent his neck this way and that, trying to get a better look.

“Yes.” Deacon said proudly, parading around the room. The moldering remains of a huge, cartoon-y bear’s head wobbled on its wire framing as he walked. “Go Bulldogs!”

“Um, I think it’s a bear.”

Deacon turned to face Piper. “Nope, a bulldog. I know bulldogs, and this is a bulldog.”

“Bear.”

“Bulldog.”

“Bear.”

“Bulldog.”

Piper crossed her arms. “Five caps says it’s a bear.”

“Well, ten says it’s a bulldog.”

“And Christine had to listen to a continuous, and very limited loop of student announcements the entire time she was cleaning the raiders out of the place, one of which was a victory for the D.B. Tech Bears. And if you’re interested, Tuesday is the last day to buy tickets for the Halloween Sadie Hawkins dance, and if you like cram and cheese, you’ll love today’s lunch special. Also, dinner is ready.” Chris thumped a platter onto the table. “Go wash your hands. And no, you can’t wear that…head at the table.”

“Awwww. I never get to have any fun.” Deacon dragged his feet all the way up the stairs. In seconds, he was back, wearing a Diamond City security uniform. He set his helmet on the table and sat down. “Oooooo mirelurk steaks and salsa!”

Dog sniffed his food bowl, then came and laid down next to Deacon, looking up with big, soft eyes.

Piper stared at Deacon curiously. “How do you change so fast? I gotta admit, that’s kind of impressive.”

“I have many unappreciated talents. You have no idea.”

Piper gave Chris a sly look. “I’ll bet the Railroad doesn’t appreciate your talents like they should, Deacon. You’re too good at what you do. Makes them feel incompetent.”

“I know! You are so right! It’s like they’re threatened by the amount of good, solid Intel I bring in. Half of it’s never even used. I told Dr. Carrington the Institute was sniffing around too close to the Switchboard, and he ignored me! I told Drummer Boy that dead drop in front of Faneuil Hall was compromised, but did he listen? Nooooooo! I told Dez that Chris was spearheading a team of very intelligent, highly-qualified, trusted companions to correlate all of the existing information available on how to get into the Institute, and our first meeting would be tonight, at her apartment in Diamond City. Or that’s what I heard. Or someone told me. Or someone told Dog. Or Dog told me. And she didn’t believe it would really happen. Pass the salsa, please.”

Dog woofed.

Deacon tried not to look too smug as Nick and Piper’s chins hit the table.

“Is that what we’re here for?” Piper couldn’t have been more excited if she tried. “We’re getting into the Institute? I can’t wait to get this into print!”

“Oh no, Piper. You can’t.”

“But the whole Commonwealth has been waiting for this day, Christine! The General of the Minutemen and the Railroad take on-“

“No.” Christine laid a restraining hand on her excited friend’s arm. “You can’t. The Institute can’t know something is up. They have to keep believing everything is business as usual. If they know we’re after them, they’ll send coursers, and synths, and who knows what else to stop us.”

“Even worse,” Nick looked grim, “They’ll send Kellogg.”

“Who’s Kellogg?” Chris asked curiously. “Piper? Are you okay?”

Piper’s face had gone pale. “Kellogg is a contract killer. Deadly in the worst way. He’s cold, cruel…”

“If you’re Kellogg’s target, you’re dead. There are no other options. You can’t run or hide. You’re dead.” 

Nick’s unblinking yellow eyes held Christine’s. “And he works for the Institute.”

“So he knows how to get in.”

“WHAT?!” Deacon, Nick, and Piper reared back in shock. 

Nick recovered first. “Christine, have you lost your mind? Even you couldn’t get him to tell you, and you sure as hell couldn’t kill him. He’s rumored to have some cybernetic implants that keep him alive-“

“He’s the worst kind of bad news, Chris, and news is what I know.” Piper turned to Deacon. “Tell her.”

Deacon regarded Christine thoughtfully. 

He had been watching her for years now. Christine had gone from being a fearful woman who had gone to sleep almost three hundred years ago, surrounded by green lawns, shopping malls, cupcakes, and rainbows, to a tough, killing machine who trained every single day, walked the length and breadth of the Commonwealth destroying every hostile in her path constantly, and led a growing army of Minutemen to help in her holy war against the chaos that she had woken up to. She was just as deadly as Kellogg.

But she wasn’t mean. There wasn’t a cruel bone in her body. She used only as much violence as she needed to defeat an enemy. Each death she caused mattered to her. Each death hurt her heart. Every victim was someone she had failed to convince to try peace, and help the world around them grow. And she believed that was on her. Her fault. The guilt for her shortcomings would live with her until her dying day. 

Kellogg had none of that, He was a cold, ruthless killer. He amused himself with the suffering of his victims. He could shoot a child, then go back to eating his cereal and reading the paper, with no further thought of his victim. 

No, in a battle between Chris and Kellogg, Kellogg would win hands down. And it wouldn’t be a pretty thing.

He leaned his chair on its two back legs. “I agree with Chris that Kellogg would be a way into the Institute-“

He was interrupted by the loud protests of Nick and Piper.

“Now wait!” he said, holding up both hands to dam the verbal barrage. “I was saying I agree with Chris that her idea is one way to accomplish our goal, but it needs to be a last, last, last, last resort.”

Piper relaxed. “Whew! Look, I love being a reporter, but writing your obituary would be one of the hardest things I would ever have to do, Blue. Aaaaand speaking of the paper…”

“No.” Christine cut her off. “Piper, I know this is going to be hard for you, but you have to keep everything we do in your head. No sharing. Not even to Nat. As fair recompense, I promise to give you a complete, every-little-detail interview AFTER we’re done, and as a bonus, you get exclusivity on Minuteman ops, the second it’s safe to release information to the Commonwealth.”

She grit her teeth. “And stop calling me Blue. It’s getting really hard not to smack you.”

“Then burn your vault suit. I can’t believe you wore that in public. You looked like a weird wet dream, in leather armor over clingy blue pajamas. And I want to be your personal reporter.”

Chris regarded her friend quizzically. “I don’t understand. I am the Minutemen. And my vault suit was all I had to wear. Better than going naked like Buck, Doc Weathers guard. Though maybe he’s doing that on purpose.”

“You’re a lot more than the Minutemen. You were first contact with the Brotherhood, for example.”

Deacon humpf’ed in disgust. “I hope those guys leave soon. We don’t need them here, even just three of them. We have enough of our own troubles.” He narrowed his eyes, “Chris, why are you making that face?”

“I… well, I gave their team leader the deep range transmitter so they could call their people back in the Capital Wasteland for extraction. As soon as Cait gets back from Vault 88, I’ll have her retrieve it.”

Nick had been silent for a long time, but the Brotherhood coming to the Commonwealth? And Christine had all but invited them here with that transmitter. That little devil. “Christine Madeline Christopher, is that why you gave them the transmitter? The real reason?”

She returned their intense stares, cold determination solidifying in her eyes.

Piper almost cowered under the deadly bleakness. This was not the woman she had been wandering the Commonwealth with for the past week. Piper didn’t even recognize this woman.

“No.” Christine said at last. “Our Minutemen are at a standstill. All we can do is add more to the ranks, and hope that’s enough. I want more for them, Nick. I want them better protected, better trained. I want to change the face of our offense. Those scraps of junky vertibirds Sturges has welded into a functioning aerial platform? We’ll never have the fighter jets from my time, but imagine vertibirds outfitted for war. Take the fight to the enemies of the Commonwealth from the air. That’s why I want the Brotherhood to come. I want the vertibirds and power armor they’ll bring, even just the few that will come to pick up this team at the police station. I want to observe their training and tactics, to see if it’ll make us stronger. See if they can help us end all of the ferals, and supermutants, and raiders for good. If they won’t cooperate, then I’ll remove their presence from the Commonwealth.”

Deacon stared. He had never seen this side of Christine before. 

She might give Kellogg a run for his money after all.

Nick was the first to break the silence. “And what’s your plan for the Institute?”

The cold look in her eyes hardened to solid ice. “Different mission, same ending. Get into the Institute, get our people back, learn what we can, take what we can use, then destroy it.”

“Humans included?”

“Yes, Nick. The Institute isn’t just a building, it’s people. People who steal and kill our people. They’re trying to manipulate the Commonwealth, instead of helping it. Every person in there knows what’s going on. Every person is culpable. I will end it Nick. I will turn it to memory, and ash. All of it.”

She smiled, her hate and anger disappearing in an instant. “I’d like to start by compiling everything we know about them right now. Are you with me?”

Piper, Nick, and Deacon exchanged confused glances.

“Well… I guess I’m in.” said Nick. “Though I want to talk more about this later, Christine.”

“Fair enough.”

Piper relaxed, relieved to have normal Christine back.

She tossed her hat onto the couch, and hung her coat on the back of her chair. “I was born ready, Blue.”

Christine grimaced. “Piper, last warning. I really, really don’t like you calling me that. I sound like a dog.”

Dog picked his head up and woofed.

 

Nick weighed in first. “Okay kiddo, we know the signal we are assuming is from the Institute, broadcasts in short, unpredictable bursts from the ruins of CIT.”

“Right. Travis said it rides the classical radio station signal, but here’s an interesting point- the classical radio station also originates from the CIT ruins, AND it’s on constantly. Unfortunately, that’s as dead an end as the burst signal. We can’t follow it any further than that. I might have an idea though.” 

Deacon, Nick, and Piper recoiled as the deathclaw smile flared onto Christine’s face.

Piper sucked in her breath. Jesus! Being with Christine was like being in the saddle on a bucking radstag. 

“What if we disrupt the classical radio signal. Shut it down.” Chris said. “The Institute will have to transmit in a different way, and unless they just happen to have a secondary method standing by, it might be a sloppy choice. One that we may be able to pinpoint more accurately. One that we might be able to track right into the Institute itself.”

Deacon recovered himself. “Or they’ll send a psycho synth, or courser, or Kellogg to kill you and get their signal back. And take out Travis too, if he’s helping you.” 

“Only if they get to us first. We have people all over the Commonwealth. As soon as someone spots a courser, they radio it in, and I warbird to the area. Wouldn’t it make sense that the Institute has people too, and will likely know where I am and what I’m doing? Wouldn’t they send the courser directly at me?” 

“Too dangerous, Chris, and this guy?” Deacon pointed both thumbs at himself. “This guy knows danger.”

Christine stared at, then through Deacon, her eyes unfocusing as she pushed thoughts around in her brain. “We can protect Travis by disrupting the signal from another spot. I do not like the idea of inviting a courser, or synth, or this Kellogg into Diamond City. There are radio relay stations all over the Commonwealth, with terminals attached to each one. Travis can teach me how to get into one, and block the classical station signal. I could do it from right there, and give the Institute a target far away from any people… ”

“Chris, I can’t believe you’re even considering the possibility. No. Goddamn it, wipe that creepy smile off your face and think like a logical human being.”

“… and I know just the one. The first time I found it, two deathclaws came barreling over the rise and attacked me as soon as my hand touched the keyboard. I managed to raise the antenna tower, but I only injured the deathclaws enough to get away. They didn’t follow me. They just kind of hunkered back into the woods. I could lure those deathclaws out, to slow down the courser-...”

“NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Deacon slammed his fists down on the table. “Christine, I swear to god if you try something like that I’ll tie you up and stick you in your vault until you come to your senses. I mean it.”

Piper grabbed her arm. “Look Blue, if-“

Christine shook off her hand, and rose. “It’s a viable option, the only one we’ve got so far. And seriously, stop calling me Blue.”

Dog woofed.

“No,” Nick said reluctantly. “We do have at least one more option, and though it gives me some serious concerns, I’d like to throw it on the table. God knows, it’s safer to more people than if Christine tries to pull off that little stunt. Sit down, Chris. Please. Hear me out.”

She sat, her wicked smile gone. Nick wondered if he was a bad man for being glad that someone was frowning.

He continued. “We all know that as a synth myself, I had to have come from the Institute. Now they may have erased any knowledge of it from my memory banks, OR they may have just blocked it. Put some sort of interdiction in so I won’t access it. Or simply can’t. What I’m saying, is that the information we need may be stuck in my head somewhere.”

Deacon couldn’t believe he was only hearing this now. “Nick! Why have you never followed up on this before?! We could have infiltrated the Institute ages ago, and saved so many people and synths!”

Thinking of the youngsters that had disappeared during the fires, Chris saddened. “Nick. Please tell me why you haven’t already tried. I know you’re a good man. Synth. There has to have been a pretty serious reason why.”

“Christine, I’ve been to Dr. Amari in Goodneighbor about it before, but as soon as word got to me that you had attacked the Ironworks, and their leader had been a synth, sent by the Institute to steal children, I went back. Not only was the Institute was starting to have our people replaced by synths, they didn't care if they were destroyed doing the Institute’s dirty work. And now kids! I mean, who suspects a kid? This is what I see as their next step in infiltrating the Commonwealth. They’re not doing it themselves anymore. They’re manipulating their trail, just like running money through dummy corporations like you were telling me about at Skinny Malone’s place, Christine. Before long they’ll have synths controlling synths, controlling synths, controlling synths, controlling yet another layer of synths. As soon as word gets out, there’ll be a panic like no other since the war. People accusing other people of being synths, and children shot in the street, just like those two brothers the other day, right in the center of Diamond City. The Institute is so clever at disguising synths, that the only way to prove someone really is a synth, is by a component in their brain, and the only way to find that, is by opening up their head. Crazy Myrna, and Becky Fallon, and people just like them will have a field day, killing anyone they even suspect is a synth. It’ll be a bloodbath from one end of the Commonwealth, to the other.”

“Dr. Amari,” Deacon prompted. “You went back to Dr. Amari.”

“Well, you know that she does all of the work at the Memory Den, digging around people’s brains to find their memories, but did you know she also gives new ones to synths that have escaped the Institute?” Nick looked to Deacon for confirmation.

Deacon stared hard at Piper. “That knowledge is something you can never, ever divulge, Piper. Too many lives depend on it, not the least of which is Dr. Amari. Her death would be a huge loss, to the Commonwealth as a whole, not to mention the Memory Den would be burnt to the ground by people who see her work as being only one step removed from that of the Institute.”

She nodded.

“Well, I went to her to see if she could find even just the tiniest hint about the Institute in my memory.” Nick continued. “She’s the one who told me that part of my brain is under a solid block. Which tells me the information must still be in there.”

“Yay!” Christine couldn’t believe their luck. “That means you have everything we need to get in and stop these bastards! Nick, you’re wonderful!”

“Don’t start the party too early now. There are serious drawbacks, one that very much concerns me. Dr. Amari said that poking around my brain was dangerous. To me. It’s almost guaranteed that I will not be able to be brought back online once she’s finished. And there’s only a very tiny possibility she’ll be able to get any information at all. From what she has seen in the escaped synths she has reprogrammed, if she touches the wrong memory, the unit goes into full shutdown, and she can’t bring it back up, no matter how hard she tries. The synth Wednesday was put into was the first subject to flatline. Also, there was a synth shot down in the streets of Goodneighbor shortly after the incident, which leads us to believe that this section of a synths brain might also trigger an alarm in the Institute, that it’s being tampered with, and they send a synth with a kill order, or heaven forbid, a courser or Kellogg. Do you see my dilemma?” 

Christine put her elbow on the table, then her chin in her hand, and slouched there, drumming her fingers against her lip as she shuffled through the hints and possibilities.

…What are you thinking, Institute? You gave us Nick, and left the information in his head, but made it impossible to get to. And that synth killed in Goodneighbor may have been a coincidence, but if it’s not, does it mean you know what’s happening at the Memory Den to your escaped synths? Why are you letting it happen? Did Dr. Amari get too close to finding you, so you sent a walking deterrent to warn her off? Are you letting synths escape because you need them out here for some reason? What’s your plan, Institute? What are you thinking...

The silence grew heavier and heavier. Piper looked at Nick, who shook his head. He lifted a questioning, metallic eyebrow at Deacon, who shrugged, and mouthed ‘Anything?’ at Piper. She slowly shook her head as well. All they could do was watch Christine, who continued to stare off into space, drumming.

Deacon was about to poke Christine, when she stood up.

“Guys, other than going to Goodneighbor to speak more in depth to Dr. Amari about what she’s found in the heads of these synths she’s worked with, I got nothing.” She headed for the roof. “I can’t think. I need some air.” 

 

Piper dropped the trapdoor in the roof into back into place, so a surprise radstorm wouldn’t contaminate Christine’s home. 

Turning, she banged into Deacon, who was standing stock still, staring up at the sky. Past him, Piper could see Nick and Christine, likewise completely motionless. All three were looking up, their mouths hanging open. She followed their eyes, and involuntarily joined the silent choir, frozen in place, gaping at what they saw.

Moving ponderously through the sky above them, was a huge… thing. A battle airship. A zeppelin of war. A great, malevolent beast that disdained the puny stars, and blocked the entire sky. It was larger than three Diamond City’s put together. An entire army wouldn’t even begin to fill its body. Beams of light from bank after bank of fixtures under its immense belly, raked the Commonwealth as they flew overhead. Circling, guarding, and flying escort, were a dozen vertibirds. 

A huge voice boomed into the stunned silence.

“PEOPLE OF THE COMMONWEALTH, DO NOT INTERFERE. OUR INTENTIONS ARE PEACEFUL. WE ARE… THE BROTHERHOOD OF STEEL.”

“I don’t believe it!” Piper was all but dancing. “Have you ever seen anything like that? God, they must have an entire army on that thing! This is going to make one hell of a headline!”

Nick closed his eyes. “’Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing.’ Flying that ship into the heart of the Commonwealth? Mark my words, the Brotherhood’s here to start a war.” 

Deacon turned to Christine. “What have you done…?” His voice trailed off.

Christine’s eyes never left the airship, as it continued its majestic journey through the evening air toward Boston Airport.

Her unblinking gaze dropped to his face. The deathclaw smile had returned.

 

“I want one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another thinking chapter. Does the story lose momentum when I put them in back to back like that? I'm finding it hard to set up future chapters with more than just a previous light reference. If I were to post chapters as quickly as my brain pours them out (which is action,action,action), you'd be yelling at me to fill in the holes. Thoughts please?  
> Thoughts on anything in my story please?


	41. I Am Too Powerful to be Doubtful, Too Optimistic to be Fearful, and Too Determined to be Defeated. -unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick, Amari, and the Silver Shroud.

Chapter 41

“Steve? Is that you?”

The slim, blond- haired man who had been tinkering on a small generator, stood and wiped his hands on his thighs. He took Nicks metal hand with obvious pleasure.

“Nick! Nick, it’s great to see you again. Still driving Ellie crazy with your reckless ways?” The young man nodded to Christine politely.

“She’s kind to worry about me.” Nick turned to Christine. “This nice young man helped me on a few cases, what, six years ago?”

“Seven. And it was the least I could do.” His face saddened.

Nick gripped his shoulder in silent sympathy. 

Steve looked down at the compassion and concern on Christine’s face. 

“Look at you, all sad. You don’t even know me.”

Nick chuckled. “She probably would before long. Steve Case, let me introduce you to Christine Christopher, General of the Commonwealth Minutemen. Chris, this is my old friend Steve.”

“She’s Christopher? I mean, she’s… I thought she’d be old and hairy, like Shaw. She’s the General? She leads ‘em? She’s my age!”

Christine bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing. She extended her hand. “Actually, I’m two hundred and seventy-ish years older than you, but it’s impolite to ask about a woman’s age. Mention my weight, and I may sock you.”

“One hundred twenty-five.”

“One thirty. Okay, that’s impressive. You can live, but I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.”

“Nick! She’s the Dread Pirate Roberts too?” He shook her hand heartily. “A pleasure to meet you.” 

Nick looked confused.

Christine lit up like a spotlight. “You’ve read ‘The Princess Bride’? I’ve been running into all sorts of people lately who read. Marcy, back in Sanctuary, would be delighted. She’s having a heck of a time teaching people. The older ones especially. That also means there are more books out here that survived the war.”

“You like books?”

“Are you kidding?” Nick laughed. “She has me on a permanent case to recover as many readable books from the Commonwealth as possible.”

“Well, General, Nick, in honor of hope for all of the lost and lonely books out there,” Case finally released Christine’s hand. “let’s go down to the Third Rail, and I’ll buy you a drink.”

 

“Well that took longer than I thought. Fun though. I can’t remember the last time I had a few drinks with friends.” Nick shut the door to the bar behind them. “You know, if this old synth could take a deep breath of the night air, I would. It feels warm, and pleasant. Is it, Christine?”

Christine took in the beautiful evening sky. Blue rose into purple, the last rays of the sun turning the thin clouds into nets that caught the colors and pinked them with light, before releasing them to disappear below the ravaged buildings of the Commonwealth. The bravest stars were just starting to lightly powder the darkness above.

“You know, Nick, at sunset, the colors and shadows make even the broken things out there look beautiful. See how it softens the shredded metal where that big chunk is missing from the tower? That stretch of highway just past it is just a dark silhouette. Makes the sky behind it even more lovely, don’t you think? And every now and then, it’s perfectly quiet. Nick, it’s the same sky above the rest of the Commonwealth. Do you think raiders and supermutants stop and stare at it too? Do you think they think it’s beautiful? I like thinking that in those quiet moments, they’re staring at the sky, wondering at how lovely it is, just like us. And for a moment, we’re all together. We have something in common. We’re not fighting. We’re enjoying the night sky together. And you’re right. It is warm. Comfortably warm. Lie back and look at the stars warm.”

Behind her, Steve resisted the urge to wrap his arms around her. She was so sweet, so sunny and positive. She was standing in the middle of a city destroyed by nuclear war, and she found it beautiful. She believed a supermutant would stop his killing, to appreciate the colors, and splendor of a sunset. People weren’t like this in the wastes. To the rest of the Commonwealth, evening meant darkness for dangers to hide in, waiting to jump out and tear you apart. Looking up meant exposing your throat for a raider to slice. 

This woman was a strange and precious gift. Idealistic. But then again, she was giving more and more people the chance to be able to do just what she said- lay back and look at the stars. He wanted to hold her close, and keep her safe from the ugliness out there that would destroy her hope. Maybe some of her sunshine would rub off on him.

Before his hands could move, Nick and Christine moved off toward the Memory Den.

 

Christine had been inside of it only once before, when Dr. Amari had put the CVRIE’s ‘Miss Handy’ mind into Wednesday’s body. It had been late at night then, making her grope her way to Dr. Amari in the dark, banging her shins and toes on every damn thing in her way. It was only evening now, and the lights were on. She craned her neck this way and that, trying to take it all in.

The main salon was kind of overwhelming. Scallops of red curtain dressed in thick velvet, draped the cloaked, red walls. Broken, baroque gold filigree detailed doors and alcoves. The plush red carpet was very clean, and surprisingly intact. Grouped here and there were well-restored pieces of furniture. All in all, Christine thought it was it was lovely. Her dad would have said it looked like a french whorehouse.

In the center of the room, looking like sci-fi spaceship escape pods, were four memory loungers. Two were in use. Reposing on an antique divan above, the whorehouse madam presided over her small, exclusive empire.

“Nick!” she said grandly, not bothering to rise from her couch. “Do come here and let me look at you. It’s been a very long time. Who’s your little friend?”

“I can’t imagine I’ve changed all that much, Irma”, he said wryly, stepping up onto her platform. Nick kissed the back of her languid, outstretched hand. “You look lovely as always. Irma, may I present General Christine Christopher of the Commonwealth Minutemen. Christine, this is Irma, proprietress of the Memory Den.”

Christine reached out to shake the elegant lady’s hand, but Irma only lightly pressed her fingers to Christine’s palm, presenting the back of her hand, and looking expectant.

Christine gave a huge mental snort. Did this fussy red tart think Christine was going to kiss her hand like Nick? Cursing her perverse imagination, Christine barely refrained from slapping a big sloppy lick up Irma’s arm. Instead, she gripped the delicate fingers and shook her hand firmly. “A pleasure.”

Irma yanked her hand back and massaged her sore fingers. “If you say so. Humpf. Welcome to the Memory Den.”

Christine allowed a slight smile to break free from the mental guffaws racketing around her brain, at the woman’s huffy tone, and flat expression.

Nick cleared his throat. “Um, we’re here to see Dr. Amari. Is she in?”

Irma waved behind herself. “She’s in her office, I believe. Go on back.” 

The catty look Irma shot Christine as soon as Nick’s back was turned, would have done justice to the leader of the mean girls back in Christine’s old high school. The woman instantly assumed a fairly welcoming, but distinctly condescending demeanor for her patrons. She smoothed the skirt on her thigh to accentuate her lush curves better, and went back to admiring herself and her domain. 

Haughty old cow. Whatever.

Christine followed Nick down into the bowels of the old theater, to Dr. Amari’s workplace. Christine was taken aback again by the amount of equipment the scientist had hidden below the Memory Den. Banks of computers lined the walls, worktables and shelves were crammed with books, papers, beakers, wires, and other intimidating bits and bobs. CVRIE still lay where it had collapsed in the corner. Two memory loungers were wired directly into the terminal Dr. Amari was tapping into. She appeared completely oblivious to her audien-

“What can I do for you, Nick?” she said brusquely, not pausing her work. She didn’t even look up. “If it’s about digging up your memories of the Institute again, no. It’s too dangerous to you, and we can’t risk our operations here if the Institute finds out. Please explain to the General here that I refuse to probe any further into your head.”

Nick chuckled. “You always were incredibly observant, Amari. A beautiful woman, hidden in a basement in a lab coat, slaving away for the good of the Commonwealth, her greatest works completely unknown, except to myself, and the Railroad. I don’t know anyone else who could tell who was here without looking, and no one else I would trust my processors to.”

“Stop right there. She knows about the Railroad?”

“Of course. She’s been working for them for months. I wouldn’t have said anything in front of her otherwise.” 

Amari stopped to appraise Christine. Her intelligent brown eyes slid back to Nick’s. “Still no. Even if I was willing, you would not survive the procedure. I have told you this.”

Christine was shocked all the way down to her toes. “Wait. Nick, you said that was only a possibility, not a guarantee. Thank you for your time, Dr. Amari. Nick, let’s go. Now I understand why Ronnie grabs ears and drags people. I sure do want to haul you out of here by your ear right now.”

“No. Christine, the people of the Commonwealth need this more. You need this, Amari.” 

“No.”

“No way, Nick.” Christine reached for the rubbery nub on the side of his head.

He batted her hand away. “No. I’m staying right here. Amari, you risk your life every time a synth walks in your door needing a new life. Christine, you live on the edge of danger every single day out there fighting. You’re also the girl who always telling everyone that there’s always a way to do something. Outnumbered clearing Hangman’s Alley, you got supermutants to do it for you. When you lost your gun helping MacCready, you hit a man with a footlocker. To distract raiders at Corvega, you flipped dead ferals through the air at them. I am sitting here with the two most brilliant women in the Commonwealth, and I’ll stay sitting here until I decay to nothing, unless you two figure out a way to get the information from my brain.”

Amari and Christine stared at each other, then turned to Nick, denials on their lips.

“Nick, you can’t…”

“I will not-“

He stopped them with one metal finger, and sat in a memory lounger. “I’ll be right here when you’re ready.”

They looked at him helplessly.

Christine was incensed at his idiotic determination to kill himself for the people of the Commonwealth. The very same selfless thought stunned her speechless.

Both women glared at Nick, then resignedly sat at a table with their backs to him, and began to hash out their options.

“Amari? I’m completely unfamiliar with the process of what you actually do. Could we start there?”

“Of course. When a synth walks in my door, they have a chip in their brain that simply needs to be erased, then formatted in a way that the Institute can’t follow back to us if they recapture the synth. Then we simply program in the life a real person who knew nothing about the Institute would have, and memories to support that life.”

“Where do the new lives come from? You dream them up? That’s a hell of a lot of work.”

“No, the Railroad does. PAM projects a matrix of possibilities, then the agents flesh out the details. Deacon designs most of them. I have an entire case of these lives locked in a secure location.”

“Where does the life they had in the Institute go, before the new life gets inserted in their brains? Do you keep those somewhere? Amari, that could be the key to what we need. The information could be on those.”

The doctor shook her head. “I’m sorry, Christine. We’ve never thought to save them. They are erased.”

“Are there any synths in the pipeline waiting to be given a new life?”

“None. No synths have been freed for weeks. The two that were intercepted when the Ticonderoga safehouse was destroyed, were returned to the Institute by-“

“Ticonderoga was attacked?!”

“Yes, completely burned out. It is just another broken building now. But we must get back to our work, before Nick rots away and ruins my memory lounger.” She cast him a sour look. “If I receive any more synths I will try to copy their memories before wiping then away, General. What exactly are you looking for, in Nick’s head?”

“We know they have a sporadic signal that rides the classical radio station frequency, which is also theirs. They teleport in and out of the Institute. I just don’t know how the two fit together, but I’m sure they do. And please, stick with Christine. I’m not the General right now.”

“You are always the General. I’m surprised you don’t see that yourself.”

Suspicion began to nudge Christine. “Amari. Have you given me these memories? Am I a synth?”

Both Dr. Amari and Nick burst out laughing. 

“No, Christine,” Nick chuckled, “you are human. You are as human a human as I have ever met.” 

Amari’s compassionate face sobered, seeing the skeptical and confused expression on Christine’s. “Here, I can prove this to you. Sit in a memory lounger, and I will find a memory for you. I cannot do this with synths, because theirs are all on a chip. Once they are written, I cannot access or change them. Yours are organic, stored in different places of your brain. Sit.”

Christine looked at the doctor suspiciously. “If I am a synth, don’t change anything. I like what I’ve done with this life.”

Christine settled into the comfy memory lounger seat and held her breath as the glass cover closed around her. Her panic rose as it began to feel more and more like cryogenic containment. She screamed.

“NO! NO! DON’T FREEZE ME! NO! AMARI! NICK! STOP! PLEASE! CAIN!!”

The cover released. Too slowly for Christine, who shoved at it, then rolled out, her body barely making it through the narrow gap. She leaped up, feral and full of adrenaline, ready to kill anything that moved.

“Christine…” Amari began.

Christine snarled at her. “Don’t. Touch. Me.”

“Christine, take it out on the old synths body.” Nick recoiled at the rage in her huge dark pupils. Her hands twitched. He continued to speak slowly and reassuringly, trying not to think of how quickly she could destroy both Amari and himself.

“The Commonwealth needs Amari. It needs its General too. We need you. Cait needs her friend. Preston would be lost without you, and Ronnie would leave. Ham needs your hugs. They’re good for him. And Rufus still has a job for you. Something about better beer, I think.”

Her breathing began to slow.

“Christine, Piper will be back soon. Her sister Nat…remember Nat? She smacked Mayor McDonough with a newspaper again, and Piper had to get her out of jail.”

Christine calmed. Her eyes returned to normal, and her back straightened, the tension draining from her body.

“He jailed Nat? A ten year old kid? Good grief, I really thought he had reached the limits of his idiocy.” She shook her head, as if to dislodge the remains of her reaction to the memory lounger. “I’m… sorry, Nick, Dr. Amari. I just… It felt like…” 

“It’s okay, Christine. I understand now.” Amari exchanged a humorous look with Nick. “Christine, I didn’t even have to probe your brain. How you responded to being in the memory lounger? Synths can’t react with the strength you did. They can only do what is programmed onto their chip. I would be a fool to allow anything that led them to desire my death, wouldn’t I? You are not a synth. You are most definitely human.”

“Who’s this ‘Cain’ you called out to? Was he frozen too?”

Christine looked at the floor. “He’s … a friend, Nick. He’s helped me out of some pretty tough spots in the past.”

She changed the subject. “So, Dr. Amari, are you a synth?”

“What?!”

“Christine! That’s a terrible thing to say!”

“I wasn’t saying, I was asking. Now hear me out. What if the Institute placed her here to give carefully chosen synths specific memories, so the scientists could observe their interactions in the real world? That synth that went berserk and wiped out downtown Diamond City made a pretty understandable argument for not allowing the Institute to ask politely to insert another synth into their population. Even if people allowed it, the synth would always carry the stigma of being one, and people would never treat him as they would just another settler, so any data the Institute could gather on the success or failure of their synth to adapt would be compromised. CIT was built on MIT, a college I lived at for years, studying alongside a special partition of students who chased more unusual ideas. Like Anna and Elliott and the Cryo program. One of the entries Anna left for me in the Vault talked about a group who was working on robots to look more human. The grandchildren’s, grandchildren’s, grandchildren of those wacko’s might be ‘The Institute’, and have been working on their projects for almost three hundred years. We know they aren’t bound by any morals. They make unspeakable sacrifices to the god of science with no remorse. Where did you get your education, Dr. Amari? How do you know how to do what you do? What’s your full name?”

“WHAT?!” Dr. Amari’s hand flew out and slapped Christine’s face. “GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY OFFICE! I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU, OF ALL PEOPLE WOULD ACCUSE ME OF THIS DREADFUL THING! GET OUT!”

Nick tried to calm the furious scientist. “She didn’t mean it, Amari. She was just speculating out loud. A logical progression from worrying that she herself was a synth.”

Dr. Amari pushed Nick away, and straightened her lab coat. With great patience and dignity, she addressed the young woman with the red imprint of Amari’s hand on her cheek, who had been quietly waiting for answers.

“I learned from my parents. My mother was a doctor, my father a mechanic. They collaborated her psychological knowledge, with his mechanical abilities, to repair a set of memory test machines, which we found and brought with us from a facility on the west coast, to here. I have continued to study everything I could get my hands on, to better their legacy, and to create the Memory Den, where people can have the one thing the devastation this war cannot take from them- their memories. Mothers can remember their children as they were, before the ferals tore them apart. Fathers can remember their joy at the news that he was going to be a father, before his wife died in childbirth. Kent simply relives his memories of when he was young and happy, watching his hero- the Silver Shroud. I can pick apart any mind, any mind at all, and find at least one tiny, beautiful, precious memory hidden in the wreckage of their lives out here, no matter how deeply, or how many layers it’s hidden under. I am not a synth. My name is Denia Tehrali Amari, and I am a scientist.”

“What a real scientist should be”, Nick murmured.

“Dr. Amari, I apologize with all of my heart for accusing you of that, but it was necessary to push you, to see what you could really do. Can you pick apart Nick’s brain as you said you could, put his consciousness, the things that make him Nick, into the CVRIE? Then you could work on getting past the Institute’s block without having to worry about hurting him, and have enough room to possibly see what you think might be the alert signal to the Institute. Even if you can’t get past the block, that knowledge of its location alone could save the rest of the synths you help to never flatline again. When we’ve gotten what we need, transfer Nick back into his body.”

Amari stared at her, open-mouthed.

“That’s my girl!” Nick crowed. “So what do you think, Amari? Can it be done?” 

Amari’s eyes never left Christine’s. “I do not appreciate your high-handed methods, General. You hurt me very deeply. I will think on this. Nick, you may stay. General, please leave. I will let you know what happens.”

Christine felt like she had been dressed down by the school principle. “Yes, ma’am.” she replied meekly, then turned and left.

 

Irma all but pounced on Christine as she emerged into the spectacularly red Memory Den main lobby.

“Here she is Kent”, she said gleefully. “This is the woman I was telling you about. I’ll bet she’s exactly who you need for your little project.”

A short, sturdy little ghoul ran up to Christine, squeezing his battered trilby hat in his hands.

“You fight crime? You’re the person helping to clean up the Commonwealth? Hey, I’ve got to talk to you!” He tugged her toward his little room, just off the main salon. Christine glanced back at Irma, wondering what her game was.

Irma blew her a kiss, then smugly settled in for the rest of her evening of lounging.

 

The room was even smaller than Christine had expected. There was hardly room to move around amidst the forest of Silver Shroud memorabilia. Christine curiously wedged herself between his personal memory lounger, and a human-sized, wooden stand-up advertising the New Silver Shroud TV series. She couldn’t begin to imagine what the child-like little ghoul was so excited about. Or why Irma was so self-satisfied about it. 

She watched him thread his way through, stopping to pat a chipped plastic statue of the Silver Shroud fondly, then brush an imaginary speck of dirt from a poster. A stack of comic books was carefully dusted with the care of a mother caressing her child. A terrible sinking feeling settled into her stomach.

Touché Irma, you rotten bitch. Game on.

Kent dithered for a moment, then plopped down on a chair next to a radio broadcasting set.

“Have you ever heard of the Silver Shroud?”

Oh hell, here we go. “Yes. My friend Rob has a bunch of his comic books. Not quite as big a stack as yours.” She pointed to the wall. “And that poster. What was your name?”

He leaped from his chair, flustered. “Oh I’m sorry! I’m Kent Connolly. Biggest Silver Shroud fan alive. I have all of his stuff.” He gestured around himself proudly. “I even play all 419 of his episodes on the radio here. And the holiday special. I call it ‘Silver Shroud Radio’.”

“Sounds great. This is a very impressive collection.”

“There, see?” He hopped back on his chair. “I knew you were the right person to help me, just like Irma said.” 

He warmed to his topic. “There’s so much crime and violence in the streets. Places like Diamond City are rebuilding, and recovering from the war, but over here? We got a ways to go. Silver Shroud Radio gives people courage, you know? To keep on trying. Just like you do.”

Christine mentally braced herself. Here it comes…

“So what if the Silver Shroud was real?” He threw out his arms. “With his black trench coat and gleaming silver submachine gun? That’s who we need. No matter how bleak things got, he’d save the day.”

“Sounds like a great guy”, she forced out through her gritted teeth.

Kent didn’t even notice. He continued on, swept up in his own plans. “I’ve built my own custom machine gun. Even better than the one in the show. But to make this work, I still need the most important piece. The Silver Shroud costume herself. And they actually got one, here in Boston. They made it for the TV show. Will you help?”

“What’s your plan, exactly?” Her fingernails were digging into her palms. Oh god, just say it…

“Once we get the costume, you suit up and clean up the streets. Together we can make a real difference. You’ll see. So, are you in?”

Aaaand, there it was. The pinnacle of absurdity in her already-pretty-crazy life. Her very own crown of thorns, placed by the malicious delight of a fat, frumpy, narcissistic moose-butt. Oh Irma, this is going to cost you dearly.

Well, it wasn’t anything more than what she did for Preston every day, really. Only with a goofy-ass costume that probably offers the defense of a sheet of tissue paper. Let me just douse myself in gasoline and leap into a flaming lava pit first. Hang on… 

“Sure Kent. I’m in. Sounds like a… a… unique way to help the people of the Commonwealth. One they will probably remember for years to come.” Especially if the corpse wearing the ridiculous costume turns out to be the General of the Minutemen. Oh yeah. This’ll be one for the books.

Kent clapped his hands in delight. “I knew it! I knew you would help me! The costume is at Hubris Comics. Listen for me on Silver Shroud radio. And here’s some calling cards. When you dispatch justice, leave them behind. That way, everyone knows the Silver Shroud has returned. Hurry back!”

Christine found herself back in the lobby. Irma laughed.

“Oh honey, you should see your face! See you when you get back. Ta-ta!”

Hurtling the mother of all stink eyes at Irma, Christine left the Memory Den.

Steve caught up with her as she was stomping down the stairs of the Third Rail. 

“Hey Christine! What’s the matter? You look kinda…cranky.”

He threw his hands up to protect his face as she whirled at him.

“Drink. I need a good drink, poured by someone who know what they’re doing, then I need to kill something. A lot of somethings.”

 

Christine stood behind the curtain in the Memory Den, staring at herself in the mirror. The Silver Shroud costume fit perfectly. Damn it. 

Steve appeared behind her, dressed in…

She wheeled in shock. “Steve! What the hell?”

He spread his arms wide, turning this way and that, showing off his outfit.

“I’m your Grognak. It's the costume we found in Hubris. Didn’t think I would let you go out to fight crime alone, did you?” He struck a heroic pose. “Together, The Silver Shroud and Grognak are Unstoppable! Villains of the Commonwealth shall tremble in fear this night. Come! Let us go fight crime!”

Christine took in his bare chest, loincloth, axe, and determined expression, and lost it. Case was one handsome and well-built man, but… Bent almost double with laughter, she grabbed Steve’s arm to keep from falling over.

“Oh fine. Laugh. Come on Christine, you might as well make the best of it. This could be fun. Here…” He helped her stand upright. “See? Look at us.”

Biting back her giggles, Christine looked into the mirror again. The Silver Shroud, and Grognak stared back at her. Assuming her own heroic expression, she flipped her pip-boy to Silver Shroud Radio, and patted her pocket to reassure herself that she had remembered the official Silver Shroud calling cards. “You’re right. The bad guys aren’t going to defeat themselves. Goodneighbor needs us. Let’s go save the Commonwealth.”

She cracked up again. Steve watched her in disgust. “Oh come on! Chris-“

Kent’s voice interrupted the hammy voice actors of his radio show.

“Calling all Silver Shroud fans, this is a once in a lifetime announcement. The Silver Shroud returns, and is going to clean up the streets. Everyone heard how Wayne Delancy m-murdered poor Miss Selmy and her kid, over a few lousy caps. Death is coming for you, Wayne.”

The Silver Shroud and Grognak looked at each other. “We’re on.”

 

They found Delancy in the alley behind the Hotel Rexford.

Grognak poked her in the side. “Well?” he whispered.

Christine cleared her throat, and spoke in the most Silver Shroud-y voice she could muster. “Wayne Delancy, your crimes have gone unpunished for too long.”

“What the hell? What’s wrong with your voice?” Delancy looked spooked. He recovered quickly. “Well, nothing a few bullets won’t cure.”

He pulled the gun from his back and started firing.

Steve yanked Christine behind himself, and threw his axe. Delancy ducked, and it flew past him.

“Jesus, Grognak!” Christine said in a very unheroic tone. She shoved her partner in crime aside, and mowed down their target with a few short, controlled blasts of her silver submachine gun. 

“What the hell was that?” she asked angrily, helping Steve up. “Don’t ever grab…Steve! No underwear? Seriously!”

He flipped down the front of his loincloth with a grin. “I don’t wear them at all. Why would I go find a pair now? Besides, it’s nice and airy down there in this get-up. Don’t forget to leave your calling card.”

Chris turned away, closing her eyes and praying for strength. Wasn’t this turning out to be a hell of a night! 

She tossed the card on Delancy’s body.

“Okay, Steve-“

“Grognak.”

“Grognak. A few ground rules. Never ever-“

Her pip-boy burst to life. “GALAXY. NEWS. RADIO. Friend of the show Jerry is here. (Knock, knock) HEY! WE”RE RECORDING IN HERE! Wait a second, folks…………. GREAT! GREAT! The Silver Shroud’s dispatched justice already. Miss Selmy has been avenged.”

A second voice joined Kent. “Shit, the Shroud offed Wayne? Wait… so this guy’s actually for real?”

“Oh-ho, you better believe it. So Jerry, go on. Tell the listeners what we’re talking about.”

“Right. So you know AJ, the chem dealer near Bobbi’s, he’s doing good for himself. Says he’s got a whole new market- kids. Even with just his garbage chems, he’s just raking in the caps.”

Kent’s voice couldn’t sound more excited if he tried. “Hear that? Sounds like the Silver Shroud has something else to deal with. We can’t let AJ kill kids. Go get ’em Shroud!”

Grognak grinned. “Let’s go, Shroud! Bad guys await!” He turned Christine’s body, and propelled her back out of the alley. “Great Silver Shroud imitation, by the way.” 

“Oh shut up. How does Grognak even sound? Does he speak?”

“How about this…” He stuck his jaw out and drew his eyebrows together. “Ugg! Grrr! Urrggg!”

They had to wait behind a wooden shack until Christine could stop laughing.

 

In the passageway in front of Bobbi No-Nose’s door, they found AJ, surrounded by four of his bodyguards. AJ was leaning indolently against the wall. He looked suspicious as they approached.

“Look at the clowns. Look clowns, this is my territory, and I don’t appreciate trespassers.”

“GRRR! URRRGGG!”

It caused Christine actual physical pain not to laugh, but she knew Kent was counting on her. She blinked away the tears, and cleared her throat. 

“Peddling poison to kids, are we? Today, you face… the Silver Shroud!”

“Eh, what did you say? Oh for Christ’s sake, did Kent put you up to this? He keeps moaning about the poor little kids. I tell you what. I’ll pay you fifty caps just to shut up about it. And maybe get Kent off my back, all right?”

Christine was incensed. Miserable fucker was making it hard to stay in character. “Stop selling to children, miscreant, or face my wrath! Oh, fuck it.”

The silver submachine gun tore through two thugs before their guns even cleared their holsters. Grognak’s axe hit AJ squarely in the chest.

One of the other henchmen picked up a dead body, and threw it at Christine. He followed it immediately with a stunning fist to her temple as she pushed away the corpse. She fell to her knees, groping blindly for the knife in her boot, and a stimpak.

Steve fell beside her, his jaw already purple from a tremendous hit. Instead of healing herself, she stabbed the stimpak into his shoulder.

A dark shape stood over her. She heard two shots, and two bodies fall, then the alley was silent. Her chin was grabbed and roughly turned to the side. A very gentle hand brushed the welt on her face. A stimpak bit into her neck. 

She reached for the trench coat. “C-Cain…?” she whispered.

The shadow disappeared.

Beside her, Steve groaned and tried to sit up. “Well that didn’t go as smoothly as I would have liked. Next one will be better, right? Let’s pinky swear on it.”

Christine stood. “No. Steve, I need you to go back to the Memory Den. I can’t fight like this. I feel idiotic enough without worrying about you getting hurt. I do better on my own.”

He gave her a look like a kicked puppy. “But Christine, I’m Grognak. You’re the Silver Shroud. We need to fight crime together.” He stood up next to her. “Besides, I’m not a Minuteman yet, so you can’t order me to do anything.”

“Oh, yet? So you’re planning to become one?”

“If it means I get to keep fighting crime all over the Commonwealth with you, then absolutely. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

He recoiled as an alarming smile leaped across her face. “Application accepted. You are now an official Minuteman, rank to be decided by Colonel Garvey. You are dismissed, Minuteman.”

“No Ma’am. You just dismissed me, which puts me off-duty. What I choose to do in my off-duty hours is up to me, and I choose to wear a ridiculous loincloth and traipse around the city with you fighting crime.”

“Minutemen are never off-duty.”

“Then I tender my resignation from the colonial militia, effective immediately.”

“That was fast. Your resignation will be the first thing on my agenda, next time I’m at my desk, whenever that’ll be. Carry out your orders with dignity, until your resignation can be considered.”

“Nope. I’m walking out on the Minutemen, as of right now.”

“Well, walk over that way then, and away from what I’m doing.”

“What? And leave the Silver Shroud to fight crime on her own? She might catch another fist with her face. What kind of Unstoppable would Grognak be, if he allowed that? Can’t let the Shroud look bad.”

“If I need to be saved by a goofy axe like that, I deserve to look bad. Go.”

Silver Shroud Radio interrupted their argument.

“GALAXY. NEWS. RADIO. No it wasn’t Bobbi No-Nose who offed AJ and his goons. The Silver Shroud’s bringing justice to Goodneighbor. See his calling card if you don’t believe me. You bad guys better look out. And now, a special update. The villainous assassin Kendra was just spotted at the Third Rail. The same Kendra who bombed Little Joe’s shack and killed four innocent drifters. If you want to see the Silver Shroud in action, stay near Whitechapel Charlie. The Shroud’s sure to interrogate him, looking for the evildoer’s whereabouts. GALAXY. NEWS. RADIO.”

Steve patted her shoulder. “Well, duty calls. Let’s go, Shroud.”

“We are so not done with this conversation.” 

“Sure we are. I won, you lost. Hey, did you see me hit that guy with my axe? I think I’m getting better with it. And my nuts stayed covered this time. I’m almost a hero like you.”

“Oh yeah. Keeping her nuts covered is a hard job. Huge ones of solid rock. She beats people to death with them when they piss her off. Or that’s what I heard. Or someone told me. Or someone told Dog. Hi Chris! Hey, you’re playing dress up and I wasn’t even invited. Some friend you are.”

“Oh my god. Deacon. Where’d you come from?”

“I’m always around somewhere, you know that. Hey, can we slow down? Getting a little winded here.” He gestured to Steve. ”Who’s Grognak?”

“New Minuteman, Steve Case, meet Deacon, the most unnoticed man in the Commonwealth. Hi Ham.” She trotted past her favorite bouncer for the fifth time today, and down the steps into the Third Rail pub.

The Third Rail was built in the remains of an old subway station. It was a sleazy, low class joint, exactly the way the people of Goodneighbor wanted it. The only modicum of refinement came from Magnolia, the beautiful singer who kept the ambiance tamped down with her never-ending repertoire of songs. Christine would have given her left leg to be able to sing as well as Mags.

Whitechapel Charlie, a dented Mr. Handy with a bowler hat, and cockney accent, wiped glasses clean with his filthy rag, and meandered over to Christine, flexing his sticker of the British flag like a tattoo. 

“Make way for the payin customers. You look like one of them wankers from the posters. Whatcha wearin that for?”

Christine cleared her throat. “You look upon…the Silver Shroud! I seek a miscreant named Kendra.”

“UGGG! GRRR!”

Christine stomped on Steve’s foot.

“Hey! That was my line!” Deacon put on his most fearsome scowl. “GRRR! That was scary, right?”

Both Christine and Case kicked at him, but he jumped nimbly out of the way.

Charlie’s eye swiveled from one person to the other. “Shroud, then? More like a nutter. Kendra is not one to be trifled with. People associated with her have a habit of being found face-down in a ditch. If you’re lookin for her, for a fee, it can be arranged.”

Christine tried to sound as threatening as her Shroud voice would let her. “It is not wise to stand between the Silver Shroud, and um… righteous… justice!” 

“Good save there, boss” Deacon whispered.

Charlie chuckled. “Justice, eh? You mean to end her? In that case, her flat’s just south of Goodneighbor. Water Street Apartments. Watch out for the blighters she’s got with her. Nasty piece of business that. Good luck.”

 

The apartments were easy enough to find, but Whitechapel Charlie was right. There were six unusually well-trained bodyguards on the first floor alone. 

On the third floor, she reached her goal. 

“You must be Kendra”, the Silver Shroud said. Her eyes picked apart the room, looking for accomplices. On the bed was… 

Her Silver Shroud imitation dropped in an instant. “You’re not a regular raider. That’s a Disciples knife. You’re from-“

“That’s right, Overboss.” Kendra sauntered over, not stopping until she was in Christine’s face. “Nisha wasn’t pleased that you gave Dry Rock Gulch to the Pack. See, she knew you were a happy do-gooder on this side of the tracks. She knew you’d come looking, if I made an ugly enough mess. So we’re delivering a couple messages. I tell you, and she tells Gage. The next town you clear is ours. And the one after that, and the one after that. See how this works? Understand, sweet fuckhole?”

Nisha. That fucking bitch. “Take this message back to your queen, sweet pea!”

Christine’s silver submachine gun blasted a thick stream of bullets into Kendra, perforating her gut like a sieve, and dropping her to the floor. Kendra tried to raise her own gun, but the General snatched the Disciples blade from the bed, and stabbed it through Kendra’s forearm, pinning it to the bloodstained carpet. She pulled the knife from her boot, and held the blade against the dying woman’s throat.

“If she doesn’t understand the moral of this story, your corpse should provide clarity.” she hissed. “You don’t belong here. You don’t belong there either, but I’ll remedy that soon enough.”

She slit Kendra’s throat.

“Uhhh… boss?”

Christine turned. Both Case and Deacon were staring at her, wide-eyed. Shit. She had forgotten about them.

“Case, get Kent on the Minuteman frequency and get the derrick to Goodneighbor ASAP. I need a ride. And tell them I need my power armor, and my Defcon Six arsenal. GO!” 

He ran, his loincloth flapping around his thighs.

“Deacon…”

“This is about Nuka-World, isn’t it? The Gauntlet really was a raider trap, wasn’t it? You got through their Gauntlet, and now rule the raiders there? Is that what I understand? And you’re giving them land to raid? Are you sacrificing people, too? What the hell has happened to you? Where did Christine go?”

Christine was stung by the betrayal in Deacon’s eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

“My job is to watch, and correlate information, and I have been watching you for a long time. She called you ‘Overboss’. That implies you are over other groups of raiders. The Christine I know would have killed them, not joined them. Her goal was safety for the people of the Commonwealth, not giving them as rewards to raiders. And I’ve seen you with Railroad’s Public Enemy Number One. He hides his face from you, but I know who he is. He dropped off the Institutes radar some sixty years ago, but he’s not gone. He never left. He’s been with you the whole time. Now you’ve invited an army of Brotherhood soldiers to the Commonwealth. Christine, what are you doing? Whose side are you on? I can’t tell anymore.”

Information and accusations whirled around Christine’s brain like a tornado. Was Deacon saying Cain was an established enemy of the Railroad? 

-‘I’ve been watching you for years, Christine. Years while you slept.’ ‘I haven’t lived the most virtuous life.’-

She needed to talk to Cain. 

“Deacon, you’re right about the Gauntlet. And I do now lead three tribes of exceptionally vicious raiders, worse than anything on this side. I have every intention of wiping them out, but first, they may be of use to us. I’m working on a plan to secure their loyalty. One tribe is with me. This woman,” she gestured to Kendra’s dead body, “Is from one of the others. I’ll remind them who their real leader is very shortly. Please Deacon, please stick with me. I’m still me. I still want to save the people here. It’s all I live for. I’m going to finish Kent’s mission as the Silver Shroud, because it’s the right thing to do. Then I’ll sort things at Nuka World. When that’s all taken care of, I’ll sit down with you, and we can talk. I promise. I’ll tell you everything you want to know, but I can’t do this right now, Deacon. Please, trust me.”

“Please trust me, she says. Chris, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that people’s actions are motivated by one of three things- caps, beliefs, and ego. Get a handle on which it is, and you’ll know what to do. I used to think you did what you did out of the belief that the Commonwealth could save itself, with a little help. When did that change, Christine. Or what do you believe in now? How could I possibly trust you?”

“Deacon, I…”

‘GALAXY. NEWS. RADIO. Here’s a Silver Shroud update. In case you missed it, Kendra’s reign of terror is over. She won’t be… Wh… what? Oh god, what’s going on?” 

An unknown voice cut Kent off. “All clear, Sinjin.”

Deacon grabbed Christine’s arm. “Sinjin”, he mouthed, his eyes wide.

“On your knees, dirtbag.” The deep, cruel voice, and Deacon’s alarm were enough to make Christine fear for Kent’s life. She tossed a Silver Shroud card on the floor, hauled Kendra’s dead body onto her shoulders, and bolted for the door. Deacon was hot on her heels. 

The ugly voice continued. “This is the Shroud’s headquarters? So you must be the Silver Shroud’s little friend. If you want to see your little friend alive, Shroud, meet me at Milton General Hospital.”

“Don’t do it Shroud, it’s a trap! Save yourself” Kent sounded beyond panicked. “Oww, oww, oww! Oh my god, do it, Shroud. Do it! My knee! Ahhh!”

The hideous voice returned. “Tick tock, Shroud. Don’t keep me waiting. We got business that needs finishing.”

The voices were replaced by uninterrupted static. Silver Shroud Radio was silent.

 

The Minuteman aerial derrick slowly lowered toward the field beside Jamaica Plains settlement. Christine strained to hear Deacon’s voice over the sound of the rotors.

“Those guys you took out? They’re two-bit raiders from outfits Sinjin has been… absorbing. He’s not known for his forgiving nature. He’s going to want some old-fashioned revenge, but I have an idea. Let’s chip away at his associates on the way to Milton. Won’t slow us down much, and gives us a few less to fight when we’re walking in the door.”

Christine had given up long ago, trying to figure out how Deacon knew so much. He really was an asset she needed to use more often. 

“Who and where, Deacon?”

“Smiling Kate has a gang that operates right outside of Bunker Hill.”

“STOP!” she yelled at the pilot. “DROP US AT BUNKER HILL!”

He nodded and turned back.

“Who else, Deacon?”

“Northy. He’s got a pad over by Prospect Hill. Six or so bodyguards. And they’ll all come running when Sinjin calls.”

“MA’AM!” The pilot hovered over Bunker Hill. Christine tossed two ropes out the door, and tugged on them, making sure they were securely attached to the derrick. With her power armor and weapons, she was beyond heavy.

“CHRISTINE?! WE AREN’T GOING DOWN THOSE, RIGHT? WE’RE GOING TO LAND?”

“Nowhere to land, Deacon. Let’s go.” She slid over the edge.

“NONONONO! CHRIS! I CAN’T… I CAN’T DO THIS!”

She looked up at his white face with surprise. Deacon didn’t get scared. She had been with him in tunnels, fighting synths, fighting gunners, and he had been ready to head into the Gauntlet with her, despite the likelihood he would die in the attempt. If he was this afraid, he meant it.

“It’s okay, Deacon. Tell the lieutenant to drop you at Jamaica Plains, and I’ll meet you there, after I deal with Smiling Kate and Northy. From there, we’ll go to Milton.” 

He watched her slide to the ground, and take off running. As much as he hated himself for thinking it, Deacon hoped Public Enemy Number One would find her quickly. She was walking into much more than even she could handle.

 

Sinjin listened to the crashing and screams below and smiled. The Shroud would be good and tired when he walked in. He surveyed the room. Four of his elite, and most deadly followers stood one in each corner of the room. No matter which way the Shroud looked, he would always have three guns tearing apart his back.

He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Smacking the man on his knees before him, Sinjin picked up his gun. 

“Oh, your friend’s arrived, Kent. Do you mind if I call you Kent?” He slapped the little ghouls head again. “Kent, here’s the thing about cops and robbers. The bad guys always win. You see, the good guy has too many things he worries about. Family. Friends. Little schoolkids. Maybe some morals. Whereas a bad guy, he just wants the fucking money. So what happens when you start taking apart the bad guy’s empire? When you start ripping him off? When you start making a fool of him, Kent? Then you got someone that will stop at absolutely nothing to take back what’s his.”

“SHROUD!” Sinjin yelled. “BETTER GET HERE SOON. KENT’S BEGINNING TO BORE ME.”

The elevator leading into Sinjin’s lair dinged. The doors slid open.

Sinjin found himself facing a set of smoky black power armor, with the silver Minuteman emblem emblazoned across the chest.

Christine stepped out of the armor, leaving it inside of the elevator, blocking Deacon.

Sinjin laughed. “I shoulda known you had something to do with this. The General of the Minutemen is the Shroud. Nice.”

“I’m whoever I need to be to protect the people of the Commonwealth.” She slammed the ‘Down’ button on the elevator. 

Deacon’s voice was frantic. “No Christine! Don’t-“

The doors slid closed.

Christine counted only four thugs, one in each corner of the room. All separated by rows of shelves… 

She pulled on her most intimidating Silver Shroud voice. “Or maybe the Silver Shroud has been the General all along, Sinjin.” She advanced on him with dreadful determination.

Sinjin narrowed his eyes at the disturbing smile crawling across the General’s face. His bodyguards shifted uncomfortably.

“Hold, Assholes. Anyone turns heel, and I’m coming for you and your family. And you, Shroud, you step any closer and we get to see what’s on the inside of Kent’s head.”

She stopped. “You shield yourself behind an innocent. You are craven, Sinjin, and you shall fall before me.”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” He was furious, and off balance. She was the Shroud, masquerading as the General? Is that why the Minutemen had become such an unstoppable force. He snarled at his unconscious reference. No, she was the General, playing a game with him. 

“Some of these losers think you’re some sort of legend. Like you walked straight out of a comic book. But you and I know you’re human. And you’re weak. You came here for what, your little sidekick?”

“Friends don’t make you weak, Sinjin. They make you strong. I have cut a path through all your thugs. Who can truly say I’m not the Shroud?”

The bodyguard to Sinjin’s right wavered. “It is the Shroud. It really is…”

“SHUT UP! I’m the strong one, because I don’t give a damn about anyone, or anything. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to win. So what’s going to happen is this. I’m going to kill Kent. Then we’re going to shoot the hell out of you. Nothing’s going to be left but paste. Then I’m going to Goodneighbor and kill every last worthless bastard there. And burn the whole thing down. No one screws with Sinjin!”

The elevator door dinged behind her. Sinjin shifted as the doors slid open. Christine didn’t dare turn from Sinjin, not with his gun pointed at the back of Kent’s head.

A very familiar harsh, cold voice spoke. “Everyone thought the Shroud was a myth, a legend. They were wrong.”

Christine almost screamed at the price a single mistake by her at this point would cost.

Not the head, not the heart, Christine thought, trying to steady herself. Go with your gut.

“I am the instrument of justice, and I cannot fall. Death has come for you, evildoer, and I am its Shroud!”

Sinjin’s men caved. They threw down their guns.

“It’s really the Shroud! Screw this!”

“Jesus, just let me live!”

“I never liked that idiot anyway! Just… just don’t kill us!”

Sinjin roared. “You’re going down, Shroud, right after K-“

A single bullet hit him right between the eyes. Sinjin looked confused, then crumpled to the floor, dead.

“NO! NO! SHE’S GOING TO KILL US!” The four villains who had been cowering as far from the Shroud as they could get, scrambled for their weapons.

Christine’s black power armor thundered past her, and launched into their midst. One raider was crushed underfoot immediately. A single pound from an armored black fist crushed the head of another. 

One mobster broke free, turning to fire on Cain. The sharp cracks of the silver submachine gun echoed around the room with the raiders screams, as he was cut down.

The final thug was on his knees blubbering to be spared. Cain turned to Christine for final judgement.

She shook her head. “Miscreant, your list of kills must be long, to be one of Sinjin’s most trusted. I cannot allow them to remain unavenged.”

The silver submachine gun measured out bullets and justice in a single burst.

Cain studied Christine over a sea of blood and mangled bodies. Her black and silver costume was splashed with the lives she had taken as fair retribution, as the Shroud, the General. Her eyes were unreadable to him.

“Are you alright, Christine?”

She stood motionless. It didn’t look like she was even breathing. She gave a single nod. “Nice shot on Sinjin.”

“Shroud? Christine?” Kent’s weak voice came from where Sinjin’s dead body lay. 

Kent! She ran to the little ghoul, and helped him stand. Christine heard the elevator doors slide shut behind her. 

She patted Kent’s shoulder, and helped him stand. “Looks like this chapter of the Silver Shroud is over. Maybe one day, we’ll write another.”

“I was t-tortured. Almost died. It’s not like the radio plays at all.” He winced as he put pressure on his right leg.

“With all we’ve accomplished, would you have done anything different, Kent?”

“No. Well maybe I would have locked the door… Things didn’t go the way I pictured, but thanks Shroud, for saving my life.”

“It was truly my pleasure. Thank you for the adventure, Kent. Would you like me to drop you off at Goodneighbor?”

“Yes, please.”

Christine was sad to see him so subdued, though it was understandable. He was an innocent civilian, who had just stood inches from his own death at the hands of a cruel, heartless killer. He had called for help, and a hero had arrived in time to save him. Too many people in the Commonwealth cried out, but no one heard. For every one of the souls who had found their way to a Minuteman settlement, there were a dozen more that didn’t. They cried out, and no one came.

That would end, she vowed. If Sturges couldn’t fix her pip-boy to send as well as receive, she would find someone who could. The Minutemen would have power armor, and vertibirds of their own. She would harness the raiders of Nuka World to be strike teams. And she would kill anyone, or anything that harmed her people, starting with the Institute. 

She would be whoever she needed to be to help the people of the Commonwealth. 

But first, she and Nisha had some unfinished business. 

And she had a sunrise to see. She wanted to listen for the quiet moments when no one was fighting, and just staring at the beautiful sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Nuka World next. Have a great holiday season everyone!


	42. The Chinese Use Two Brush Strokes to Write the Word 'Crisis.' One Brush Stroke Stands for Danger; the Other for Opportunity.   JFK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gifts for bad children. How to know its not a dream. Colters armor.

Chapter 42

Twin tornados of heavily irradiated air whipped up the dirt and debris in front of Fizztop Mountain, into an impenetrable, translucent, frothy filth storm. 

“Eli! Drop me in front of those double doors over there. Fly up a little higher. I need a very memorable entrance.”

“Yes, ma’am. Do you want me to wait for you?”

“No, thanks. I’m pretty sure rescuing my lover is going to take some time, and I don’t want you sitting here soaking up radiation. Drop that bag of caps where I told you to, then grab some more people, and pick up what’s left of the Brotherhood vertibird that crashed by the Weston Water Treatment plant. Looks like some supermutants are back, so go well-armed.”

Jefferson looked sick. “Ma’am? A raider is your… umm… lover?”

“You could call him that.” She laid a hand on Eli’s shoulder carefully, not wanting to hurt him with the weight of her gauntlet. “And Jefferson, at the vertibird, please find the bodies. Bury them at the Memory Trees but keep the dog tags.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good man. Tell Preston I’ll be back to Sanctuary as soon as I can.”

She loaded Kendra’s corpse over the shoulder of her power armor and leaped out the door.

 

The Overboss slammed to the ground in front of the entrance to Disciple’s lair. The shockwave from the power armor boots striking the earth concussed three Disciples into jelly instantly. Another half-dozen that had been loitering in the immediate area toppled to the ground. Before they could rise, Christine’s plasma rifle reduced them to puddles of green goo. She reloaded and kicked in the doors.

Forty assorted guns and knives flashed to the hands of their owners.

“HOLD” a rough-looking woman commanded, holding up her hand. Christine noted that the Disciples did not relax, or lower their weapons, but remained tightly coiled, poised to attack the second the woman commanded. “Well, if it isn’t Gage’s sweet little fuckhole. That is you in that power armor, isn’t it, sweet fuck--“

Christine tossed Kendra’s body to the ground. “Yes. Yes it is. Are you Daisy? Dopey? Dumbfuck? 

“Dixie”, the woman ground out. She gestured to the corpse. “When Nisha gets back, she’s not going to be too happy with your gift.”

“It’s not a gift, Dipshit. Gifts are for children. It’s a promise, and I don’t make empty promises. Are you enjoying being a Disciple?”

“Bitch, Disciples are-“

“Shut up you fucking moron. Where’s Gage?”

The cavernous room erupted into laughter. 

A muscular man with cold, ugly humor behind his eyes, lazily ambled over to Christine. “He’s where he belongs. Face down in a gatorclaw pen. I’m afraid there won’t be much left of him for you to save after Nisha opens the door, sweet fuckhole.” 

“And you would be Savoy.”

He nodded and began tracing the plates of her power armor with an arrogant finger. “See, Nisha knew you would come for Gage. She’d like to talk to you about Disciple World personally. And Kendra here?” He kicked the corpse. “She volunteered to go to the Commonwealth. She got to slaughter as many of your stupid people as she wanted, waiting for you to notice. She knew Nisha wanted you back here, whether you came in with Kendra over your shoulder, or you over hers. Didn’t matter. Either way, it worked. You’re here. And bonus for us, you’re in the middle of our home sweet home. Disciple territory. Surrounded by almost every single Disciple in Nuka World. If you aren’t there to rescue Gage by sundown, Nisha’s opening the gate anyway. Oh dear, only a few hours left. I don’t think you’re going to make it, sweet fuckhole.” He jammed the barrel of his assault rifle into the space between the rusty T-45 plates covering Christine’s chest and gut.

Christine’s armored fist slammed the gun to the side. She grabbed him by the neck, lifted him into the air, and squeezed. Savoy hammered and kicked, trying to get loose, but Christine’s fury was well beyond any care for whether he was able to breathe or not. Firing precisely to make the most of her shots, she held the meat shield up between herself, and the raging Disciples. He was dead before the first bullet hit anyway.

One shot, one kill. Goo spattered the walls.

Christine threw Savoy’s dead body into a cluster of Disciples followed by a thick plasma storm from her rifle, then thundered up a series of steep scaffolding ramps, chasing the fleet figure of Nisha’s second-in-command. Bullets and knives pinged off her armor. A glance at the defensive integrity gauge on her heads-up display, showed her right arm and leg already in the red. The General in her, coveted the powerful Disciple weapons. The woman inside the power armor watching the damage mount, hoped Mason and his Pack got here pretty quick. If he had even gotten her message. Her plan had been pretty iffy, and Plan B was even worse.

Better than dying in a Silver Shroud costume, though.

A missile exploded against the metal supports beneath her. Pipes whined and bent, as the weight of her power armor overloaded the weakened structure. 

Christine froze, and scanned the surging sea of angry, armed raiders for the shooter.

Fuck. The raider with the missile launcher was below her, in the perfect position to avoid her shots. Another hit like that would collapse the scaffolding, and she would never get to Dixie. That bitch was dying today. Every last fucking Disciple was dying today. The vengeful hellspawn angel that was the Overboss would see them personally escorted to Hell. Period.

Unable to move forward without chancing a collapse of the fragile metal skeleton, she watched the gleeful Disciple line his missile launcher up for another shot. 

Christine stepped very carefully to the right, onto a less-damaged portion of her precarious perch.

He fired.

Christine leapt off of the scaffolding directly at her assailant as it collapsed beneath her. Pipes, and great, heavy metal panels dropped onto the screaming mass of Disciples Her explosive landing flattened everyone within a twenty-foot radius.

She grimaced at the raider paste and bent missile launcher stuck to her boots, and the tortured section of scaffolding that had collapsed, rendering getting to the shacks at the top, and Dixie impossible.

“BYE- BYE, OVERBOSS!” Dixie leaned over the rail and pointed a loaded Fat Man directly at her.

Fuckity- fuck- fuck- fuck! With this degree of damage already, the Fat Man would definitely take her out of the game, power armor and all. Christine ran for the doors, smashed aside and tramped Disciples in her wake.

She slammed the doors open, and almost crashed into the Pack.

“NONONONO!!! GET BACK! GET BACK! GET BACK!!!”

The force of the exploding mini-nuke tore the doors off the base of Fizztop Mountain, and hurtled Christine forward. Pack members were flung back, crashing into the fortifications around the walls, derelict vendor carts, dead bushes, piles of debris, and each other. Mason, Leader of the Pack, picked himself up, and ran to Christine, who was painfully trying to rise.

“Overboss! What the fuck is going on? Get up. You need us or not? We get to kill these Disciples yet?” He roughly hauled her, power armor and all, to her feet. “You better fucking still pay me.”

Christine pushed his hands away. “Mason, you are a goddamn hero. You clean out all of the Disciples from the rest of the park?”

“Of course! You think I’d pass up an opportunity like that? The Overboss says I get to kill Disciples, I ain’t passing that shit up. What the fuck did you do in there?”

“Dixie tried to shoot me with a Fat Man. In an enclosed area. Her enclosed area. With all of her people in there with her. What a dumb fuck. And Gage had told me she was the smart one, that she stood behind Nisha and whispered in her ear. Bloody fucking hell, what an idiot. Thanks to her, and the shit-for-brains with the missile launcher, that was almost too easy. And yes. Tell the Pack to kill every last motherfucker in there. Eat them, I don’t care. Take anything of theirs that you want. I need to get to Safari Kingdom, find Gage, and kill Nisha. I’ll give you the rest of the payment I promised when I get back. If I’m not back by morning, you’re welcome to every last cap in my safe, and everything in Fizztop Mountain. Fair enough?”

He stood and yelled to his tribe. “GET IN THERE! OVERBOSS SAYS IT’S ALL OURS!” He smacked Christine’s metal shoulder. “You want some help with Nisha, Overboss? She ain’t going to be alone.”

She grinned at the screaming, howling, colorful mob pouring into the Disciples ex-fortress. “My God, I do love their enthusiasm. Yeah, sure. Promise you’ll listen to me, though. You trust me. You do exactly what I say, no questions. I don’t want you dying out there, Mason.” 

The Overboss doesn’t want me dead.

“You got it. And the Pack gets Safari Kingdom when we’re done.”

“Tell them to give us a couple hours, then come clean up. Then it’s all yours, Pack Leader.”

Yeah, he liked this girl way more than fucking Colter. The new Overboss was taking care of the Pack just fine.

 

Nisha listened to the strident clamor of howls and screams coming closer. So far, Overboss seemed to be killing every Disciple and monster in her path, but all it would take was for the bitch not to see just one of Nisha’s people, or one fucking gatorclaw, and the Overboss wouldn’t be nice and tired when she finally got here. She’d be fucking dead.

God damn gatorclaws. That fucking boss gatorclaw hadn’t been too pleased with the raiders who were blocking its den, but then, that was why Nisha had brought so many Disciples with her. Making the weakest of her tribe, and the ones who’d had the bad judgement to irritate her come with her, had served more than just their purpose of setting up a trap for the new Overboss. It also took them off Nisha’s rolls. There was no use for fuck-ups in the Disciples. Maybe she should send a thank you note to the Overboss.

After the gatorclaw had finished his rampage, only three raiders still remained with her. More than enough to toss Gage into the pen and to take out the Overboss. Ridding Nisha of two irritants at the same time seemed to be a strong suit for the fuckhole. Too bad she wouldn’t be around to continue doing Nisha’s work for her-

PZANG!

An energy bolt hit the gate next to Nisha. FUCK! The Overboss had a gauss rifle. As if that god damn plasma rifle wasn’t enough. 

She watched the fuckhole, and the Overboss’s new lapdog bastard Mason emerge from the bushes. The Overboss had power armor too? Where the fuck did she get all of her toys?

“Ahh, Overboss. I didn’t think you’d make it in time.” Nisha jerked her chin at the bloody heap in the pen next to her. “Your little toy is past worrying though. At least for the moment. I hope he wakes up in time to see you fail and die right alongside him. I’ve been thinking about that for quite a while, watching you die. I find the thought very, very pleasing.” 

She turned to Mason. “And the leader of the Pack. She gives you Frontier Town, and now your nose is right up her ass. I imagine if Gage dies, you think you’ll be the next one in her bed?”

He started laughing. “Oh darling, that would be a nice turn of events, but see, she gave us the Disciples lair too. Every one of your people in Nuka World is dead. There’s no one for you to go home to. That is, if for some crazy reason the Overboss lets you live.”

Nisha’s languid attitude dropped in a second. “You couldn’t have, fuckhole. Dixie and Savoy, and all of the rest of the Disciples were waiting for you. You couldn’t have gotten past them.”

Christine was getting mighty tired of being called ‘fuckhole’. “Would you rather consider the probability that they told us where to find you to save their own skins? No? Nisha, your very own stupid fucking Dixie thought she could take me out with a Fat Man, right in the center of your cave. I think the power armor made her nervous. Anyway, between her, the idiot firing missiles, and the pointed invitation Kendra delivered, the Pack had very few Disciples left to finish off.”

Nisha’s smile returned, if a little brittle. “Good try, but I know Dixie would never do anything that stupid. I’ll tell you what. You give me that power armor, and the gauss rifle, and I’ll give you ten seconds to rescue Gage before I let the gatorclaw out.” She pointed her rifle at the makeshift gate blocking the gatorclaw's den.

Christine considered the offer for a moment. “Deal.”

“Fuck no! Overboss, if you’re giving anyone power armor, it better be me.” Mason turned his garish rifle toward Christine.

Christine pulled off her helmet and tossed it to the ground. For a second, Mason was glad her smile was pointed at Nisha. Fractured, like sad and angry, with insanity climbing through the cracks. But this girl looked like she was thinking too, and pleased, and way too fucking smart to let that animal inside her loose. Yet.

He was not ready for the Overboss to turn that smile on him.

“Remember your promise, Mason. Your Pack isn’t going to happy with the Operators having the only leaders left. Nisha dies, that’s a given. You need to be thinking. Hard.”

He grunted. “I remember. And when she’s dead, I’m going to peel it off of her fucking body. Overboss, you really doing all this to save Gage? Taking out the Disciples, pissing off the Operators, giving her your fucking power armor and gauss rifle? What-“

“Power armor”, Nisha said impatiently. “Now. You two can have your little talk over Gage’s dead body, right before my Disciples kill you.”

“Fine.” Christine exited the armor. “And you don’t start counting til you’re in it.” She started to remove the power core.

“No! Get your hands off that, you fucking bitch. You leave that there. I know that’s what powers it. And for that little prank, you only get five seconds.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Christine dropped the gauss rifle to the ground.

“Fair? This is Nuka World, fuckhole. There is no ‘fair’ here. Now step away.” Nisha scrambled into the armor and closed it around her. “One… Two…”

Christine didn’t move.

Mason shoved her. “Boss, get on with it!” 

God damn it. He wished like hell she wouldn’t smile at him like that.

The Overboss pulled a small unit from her thigh pocket. She pointed it at her power armor and squeezed.

Christine had only a second to yank Mason down beside her into the dirt before the core exploded, turning the power armor into shrapnel, high-powered bits of metal and the former leader of the Disciples. 

“Fuck, Boss! I coulda-“ 

She wasn’t listening. Christine was already on the move to the gatorclaw pen. The noise of the explosion had angered the beast. It slammed against its flimsy barrier, snarling.

Christine threw two frag mines in front of the barricade and grabbed Gage’s arm. Using all of her strength, she could only haul him a few feet.

“Fucking Overboss! We’re going to fucking die!” Mason grabbed Gage’s other arm, heaved the unconscious man over his back like a little kid’s backpack, and bolted for the exit, Gage’s limp feet bouncing against the back of his knees.

Christine’s hand had just touched the latch, when the slathering beast burst from its prison.

GFOOM! GFOOM!

Steel splinters, and bits of gatorclaw rained down on Christine and the two men, who had been blown forward into the muck. She had a nasty tear on her cheek from hitting the fence, but she didn’t care. They had gotten Gage out. 

A bullet drilled into her calf, followed by another into the back of her thigh. Mason dumped Gage’s body into the mud and threw himself in front of her. His gun came up, firing into the bushes where the shots had come from. Someone screamed, but the bullets kept coming.

Christine leaned up and fired over Mason’s hip with her plasma rifle until the magazine was empty. She tossed it down and lunged for the gauss rifle. Bullets riddles the ground in front of her outstretched hand. She snatched it back.

“I got him.” Mason rolled and fired at the Disciple hiding beside the wall. The air went quiet.

Christine listened for a few more moments. “You Disciples out there, come out, and I’ll let you live. You go somewhere else. West. You’re done in Nuka World.”

A single Disciple came out, holding his hands in the air. Coldly, she shot him.

“You fucking killed him. You lied and shot him anyway. Good call, Boss.”

“His gun was still in his hand, with his finger on the trigger. Stupid bastard.” Christine jabbed a stimpak into Gage’s shoulder, and one into his leg. She winced, trying to stand.

He helped her to her feet. “You want me to get those bullets out of your leg?”

“Up on Fizztop. I’m not wild about letting you dig around while we’re out here.”

“What if we meet up with a ga-“

His sentence was drowned out by the screams and war cries of the Pack. They had made it to Safari World. 

“Well”, he grinned, “guess we don’t have to worry about anything attacking us anymore.”

No sooner were the word out of his mouth, then a brawny man wearing just a loincloth, and brandishing a silver club studded with spikes and razor wire, ran out at them. Mason leaped up.

The man slammed Mason’s rifle aside, and barreled through, knocking him to the ground. He raised his club to strike.

“NO! DROP IT, TARZAN!” Christine fired an energy bolt that sizzled through the air between the man and Mason.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?! SHOOT HIM!” Mason yelled.

The man cast a distrustful look at Mason, then lowered his weapon. “You Angry Woman. You kill many bad things.” He pointed a thumb at his own chest. “Cito.”

“Cito? Is that… your name?” She pointed to herself. “I’m Christine. The man on the ground is Mason. We don’t want to hurt you.”

Mason snorted. “You lying to this guy too, boss?”

The man half-lifted his bat, eyeing them both suspiciously. He spun, death in his eyes, as the Pack poured into the small clearing.

“Stop them, Mason. I want to talk with him, not scare him.”

He halted his tribe’s killing spree angrily. “Well?”

“Please take them to some other section, like the hedge maze around the tree house. We didn’t get to that.”

He jerked his chin at the Pack, and they took off howling. “I ain’t going anywhere.” He stood and dusted himself off.

“Fine. But don’t interfere.”

“For cryin out loud! You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Yeah, I get that a lot. Now Cito, do you live here? What do you want from me?”

“Cito live with fam-il-ee in house with go-ree-la in front. You kill bad things. No kill fam-il-ee.”

“Of course. Mason, can you get the word out to not kill anything in the building with the ape in front of it?”

“What? And leave you here with monkey man, Gage out cold, and you with two holes in your leg? Not the best choice I’ve made today, and I’ve made a couple. The first being not killing you and Nisha myself, and getting your power armor and gun out of the deal.”

“Mason, I will give you this gun, and get you a better set of armor, if you’ll just stop the Pack from entering that building. I have a feeling about his family. I saw the movie.”

“What the fuck are you talking about this time?”

She glared at him.

“Alright! Fine! Fucking steal all my fun too.” He muttered, walking off.

Cito was still watching her warily. “You and Painted Man not kill my fam-il-ee?”

“No, we will leave them alone. How long have you been here, Cito?”

“Cito here for long time. Small boy. Go-ree-la help Cito. Fam-il-ee.”

“Yeah I thought so. Cito-“

“Chris-steeen, you kill many bad things. Many more come. Always many more. Chris-steeen and Painted Man make bad things stop.”

“I’m pretty sure the Pack will take care of your bad things.”

“No, many more will come. Cito kill bad things for long time. Always more.”

Mason strode back into the clearing, a handful of impatient men wearing a riot of colorful fuzzy pants and carrying brightly painted rifles, in tow.

“So, the boys found a secret room that leads under a building, but it’s got one of them damn terminals we can’t get into. Come get’em in.”

“Mason”, she said gesturing to her leg and Gage, “I’m not going anywhere. Can you get anyone to very carefully bring Gage back to Fizztop-“

“That’s another thing! If I’d have killed you, Fizztop would be mine now! God damn it woman.”

Christine grinned. “Think happy thoughts, Mason. Power armor. Gauss rifle. Caps.”

“You givin me more caps to get Gage up to Fizztop in one piece?”

“Now who’s being a pain in the ass? I’ve given you Disciples to wipe out, their home grounds and everything in it, and Safari Land, plus the original bag of caps, plus more when this little caper is complete, and power armor and my gauss rifle. I’d say I’ve given you a pretty fucking awesome day. Now get Gage back to FIzztop still alive before I shoot your greedy ass!”

He chuckled. “Yeah, you put it that way, you’re a fine god damn Overboss. Merc! Nono! Pleschette! Get Gage back to FIzztop. Fix him up!”

She watched a man settle her unconscious lover on his back, then with the other two as guards, they trotted off toward Fizztop Mountain. “Pleschette? Really? That’s a terrifying raider name.”

“Shut the fuck up. He’s good, and the closest thing we got to a doctor. Better than that crackpot in the market. Sure you don’t want me to take those bullets out of your leg now? How come you’re not yelling like a normal person that’s been shot?”

“Something a friend told me help me to ignore it- AAAIIEEE!”

Mason’s rifle snapped to his hands as Cito shoved Christine over and sat on her back. The monkey man examined the bullet hole in her thigh, then twisted and squeezed her leg. One bullet popped out. She shrieked.

“There, that’s better”, Mason said, relaxing. He folded his arms across his chest. “Now you sound normal.”

Cito squeezed Christine’s calf, massaged the muscle, and squeezed again. In a slick cascade of blood, the second bullet oozed from the hole in her leather pants.

“There”, Cito said, standing up. “Cito fix. You kill bad things now. Make bad things stop.”

Christine hauled herself to her feet on Mason’s arm. “Bloody fucking hell!! Give me a second!” 

She limped around, gritching. “Mother of fucking Christ son of a bitch hurts god damn it owww. Fucking leg. Fucking Tarzan.”

“Hey don’t think you’re getting out of here. You get us into that locked room. Locked rooms always mean something good.” He jabbed a stimpak into her butt cheek.

“Jesus motherfucking Christ Mason! In my ass? Really? Owww! Don’t twist it! That hurts!”

“Use those words your friend gave you and shut up.”

She quieted. Her look went flat.

Mason glared at her. “And don’t give me that fucking smile either!”

Christine didn’t say a word. Testing her leg, she limped off after the impatient Pack members.

 

She was walking normally by the time she reached the terminal. 

“You”, she said, hauling a man over by his shirt. “This is how you do it. See these letters and symbols?”

There was a disturbance behind her, and Mason pushed the man out of the way. “Teach me. Def doesn’t know how to read.”

She didn’t acknowledge her change of students, just continued on. “Follow along line by line until you come to a word. What’s the first word?”

He scowled. “Stark.”

“Very good. See how it lights up? Means you’ve chosen it. Click on it. There, now see on the side it said ‘Access Denied, Likenesses 2? That means 2 letters of that word are the same as the password word. Follow along row by row until you find a word that has only two letters in common with the first word. No, ‘Risks’ has 3 letters in common. You only want two. ‘Steer’? okay, click on and let’s see if it’s the password. Nope. But see where it says 3 likenesses? Keep going until you find a word with three letters in common. ‘Style’? Sure. Give it a try.”

The computer dinged. 

The Pack cheered and congratulated their leader. Mason basked in their accolades.

Christine poked him. “You’re not done yet. Hit the command to unlock the damn door.”

Clickity- clickity ding. 

Raiders poured in the open door, hooting and howling. 

“Aren’t you going in with your people?”

Mason continued to stand next to her smugly. “They don’t need me to collect the treasure. They’ll give me my share when they come-“

Suddenly the Pack’s exuberance changed to screams of terror, overridden with the snarls of gatorclaws. Christine and Mason stared at each other, then ran in.

Everywhere they looked, the Pack was fighting gatorclaws. There must have been eight, with more waddling in through a break in a sewer pipe. Chunks of human flesh were strewn across the floor. Most of the raiders were bleeding, and only two gatorclaw carcasses were on the floor.

“BAD THINGS!” Cito came barreling into the room, swinging his bat. He caved in the heads of two of the beasts, then gestured to the hole in the pipe. 

“Bad things come from here. Too many for Cito. You help Cito. All Painted Men help Cito.”

“On it.” Christine reloaded her gauss rifle, and ran into the pipe, Cito hot on her heels. 

Mason watched them go, looked back at his pack, then back at the pipe. 

“God damn pain in the ass, just like I said. PACK! TAKE THESE FUCKERS DOWN THEN GET IN HERE BEHIND ME!” He disappeared into the pipe.

A dead gatorclaw was lying in the slimy gunk at the bottom of the pipe. The smell was horrible. Following the sound of Christine’s voice, he kept running. At a junction, he paused, not sure of which way they’d gone. 

In the left-hand tunnel, a monster screamed and fell into sight, a smoldering, melted hole where its chest used to be. 

Yep. Found them. “Christine! Don’t shoot me! It’s Mason!”

“Don’t tempt me!”

He grinned.

The pipe emptied into a room filled with desks, scientific equipment, work stations, and assorted barrels and crates. Cito and Christine were double-teaming the gatorclaws still emerging one after another from a room up some stone steps, behind a chain link barricade. The second the beasts exited, Christine shot them in the gut. As they bent over, Cito bashed their heads in with his club. He fell upon them as soon as they were down, smashing the gatorclaw heads into jelly. Then another emerged, and they had to start all over.

“Well, I see you’ve got this under control. I’ll- “

“NO! Mason, these things just keep coming. I’ll run out of bullets soon, and I can’t imagine how long it will be until Cito collapses.”

“So, you need my help again. Let’s see, what would I like this time…” He made a show of rubbing his chin and staring off into space, thinking.

Christine fired a bolt of energy into the wall next to him. He jumped and glared at her. “What the almighty fuck- “

“Cito and I could just stand aside and let the claws go through that tunnel to your people, asshole. Get over here!”

“See that? That’s why you’re a pain in the ass.”

The temptation to shoot him was getting stronger. Another gatorclaw came through the fence. 

BZANG! “Mason! They keep coming at a fairly stable rate, so I have to wonder if there isn’t some gate or something opening on the other side. Let’s follow this parade back to it’s source. See if we can stop it.”

“Right behind you, Overboss.”

They advanced step by step until they were at the fence, then slipped in. Christine and Cito kept up their shoot and smash pattern. Mason took over shooting the gatorclaws once the monsters were down. He spelled Christine on the gauss when he ran out of bullets. Cito seemed indefatigable. 

They finally met the mother of the gatorclaws. 

She was a machine. A cloning machine that replicated gatorclaws one after another.

“Find the switch! Turn the damn thing off!” Mason yelled.

Christine scuttled around the machine, looking for some sort of toggle. Failing that she looked for a power supply she could detach, but it was built right into the wall. Still nothing.

Wait. Overhead cables.

She followed them down to a terminal. Which wanted a specific password, wherever the hell that would be.

Behind her, Mason yelled. She turned to see Cito smash a gatorclaw that had ripped into Mason’s arm.

“WHAT’S TAKING YOU SO LONG? STOP THIS THING! TURN IT OFF!”

“Not that easy! It wants a password!”

“SO DO THE THING YOU SHOWED ME!”

“No, a very specific password! And if this is like other terminals I’ve tried, I only get one try before I’m locked out!”

“Wrinkly man give Cito little box. Says it will stop the bad things. You try. Try wrinkly man’s box.”

Christine and Mason stared at Cito. “You have the password? Who’s the wrinkly man? An old guy? A ghoul?”

“Cito have wrinkly man’s box.”

“Bloody hell, Cito! Give it to me!”

Cito smashed another gatorclaw. Mason fumbled with his mangled arm to fire the gauss. Cito smashed again and again and again. Finally the gatorclaw fell. Another emerged from the machine.

“Where is it, Cito? Where’s the box?”

“Cito keeps wrinkly man’s box in a safe place. Under clothes.” He started pounding the newest beast.

“Give it to me, Cito! Give me the password!”

“Cito kill bad things. Chris-steen get from clothes.”

“Hey now-“ Mason began.

Christine danced around the men, patting Cito to find the box. 

“No! Here!” Cito smacked Christine’s hand right onto his groin. “Under here!” He raised his club for another swing.

“Christine! What the hell-“

“Shut up, Mason!” She fumbled around under Cito’s loincloth.

Well didn’t Jungle Jim have a fine...

“Not there, Chris-steeen. Other side. Hand feels nice.” He smashed at the newest gatorclaw.

“Oh for Pete’s sake!”

She finally located the box in a small pouch on a thong that was hanging beside his very erect penis. As soon as there was a lull in the fighting, she slipped it off.

The box was a holotape. 

Christine dashed to the terminal and plugged it in. A dozen entries scrolled up. At the bottom was the control command for the cloning machine. She hit it.

The machine ground to a halt. Christine and the men were surrounded by the dozens of gatorclaws they had killed. Mason collapsed to the floor, fumbling in his pocket for a stimpak. Cito wasn’t even breathing hard.

“Hey Overboss, I got a stimpak in my pants. Come find it.”

“Chris-steeen hands feel nice,” Cito informed him.

“Oh I’ll bet they do.”

Christine pulled a stimpak from her thigh pocket and slapped it into Mason’s shoulder. “Smart-ass. Maybe I’ll just twist this a little…”

Mason yelped. “Damn it, Overboss!”

Cito watched them somberly. “Chris-steeen and Painted Man stop bad things. Chris-steeen and Painted Man friends to Cito.” 

He handed Mason his bat. “Painted Man keep Cito’s shiny thing. Kill many other bad things. Thank you for helping Cito and my fam-il-ee.” 

Mason watched him walk away, then turned to Christine. “Hand feels nice, eh?”

“My hands feel absolutely amazing. Just ask Gage.” 

Now that the Disciples were dead, Gage was saved, the gatorclaw cloning machine was stopped, and Safari World was safe again, she was feeling much better. “Mason, what you and the Pack did here was impressive. I don’t feel like I cleared Safari World. You and the Pack did it yourselves, with only a little help from me. Well done.”

“Yeah, well don’t think I don’t know it. And you still owe me power armor, and a lot of caps. I’m keeping the gun. How did you make the power armor explode? You better have some more somewhere.”

“I have a number of sets. This one was a junker I bought from CLEO in Goodneighbor. I was expecting to have to blow it up in the Disciples cave. My friend Rufus helped me rig up the detonation device. I didn’t have any explosives that wouldn’t show, so he rigged it up to the fusion core. I wasn’t taking it out when Nisha yelled, I was actually arming it. I’ll give you one of my sets that’s not a junker. I good one. I’ll even do some modifications.”

They started walking back through the pipe.

“Like what? What kinds of modifications?”

“Well, I can make it stronger, for one. You know what? I can put some tesla arc nodes on it.”

“What the fuck is that?”

“Think electricity. If anyone touches you, they get zapped. It’s actually pretty fun in battle. I like chasing people with it.”

Mason laughed. “Overboss, I knew you were a raider at heart.”

“Maybe. Have fun cleaning up your new territory, I need to see how Gage is feeling. And Mason?”

“Yeah?”

“If you can, try to capture a gatorclaw for me before they’re all dead. I have people who need to see it. And destroy the cloning machine. Melt it down and make me a sword or something. That’d be cool.”

“Will do, Overboss.”

He watched her walk up and out of the basement. Damn the new Overboss was something. Who knew capturing live bloodworms and flying ants would lead to two territories, the Disciples gear, a set of power armor that electrifies anyone who touches it, a fuckload of caps, and this gauss rifle. Of course, pissing her off may get the Pack wiped out, just like the Disciples, but he was not that stupid. He liked where he was sitting just fine.

 

Christine sat on the bed next to Gage. Pleschette and the boys had cleaned him up, dressed his wounds, and hit him with every stimpak in their arsenal. Even tried a syringe of Psycho, hoping to get his heart going. But it was too late. He had died before Christine had even gotten to Safari World. He was gone from her.

Just like her family. Just like Anna and Elliott. And everyone who never made it to a settlement, or gave everything for the Minutemen, or was taken by the Institute. Too many. There were just too many that were gone, and the world was a darker place without them.

She trailed her fingers down his face. Gently, she rubbed his eye armor with her thumb. His lips. His chin. Christine laid her forehead against his armored chest and closed her eyes. Her hand slid down his arm until she was holding his hand. Her tears rose up to choke her, then slowly dripped onto his battered chestplate. 

She spoke so quietly, her Pack guard almost didn’t hear her. 

“Def? Where do you bury your dead?”

“We don’t, Overboss. We burn. Nuka World would be one solid graveyard if we buried everyone who died here.”

“Will you take him for me? Burn him? Do the best you can. Make it special, okay? Do it now.”

“Sure, Overboss. We’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

“And throw the Disciples out for the ferals to eat. They don’t deserve a funeral. Bring me a bucket of Nisha too.”

 

Flames flung their grasping hands into the sky, chasing the smoke of Porter Gage’s spirit. His body would burn to ash, but his smile, his memories, the things that made him Gage, rose up, drifting on the irradiated breezes that gently stroked the land he had chosen to live in. 

Mason stood beside Christine respectfully, watching the flames. 

Christine kicked over the bucket of Nisha’s remains in front of the pyre.

“They’re gone, Gage. I should have done it sooner, but I didn’t think Nisha was that stupid. My misjudgment cost your life.” She looked up and met Mason’s, then Mags’ eyes. “That won’t happen again.”

Mags Black returned her look neutrally. She and her brother William, leaders of the Nuka World faction known as the Operators, stood near, unwilling to be left out of the Overboss's stupid little ceremony. After witnessing what the Overboss had done to the Disciples, and knowing the Pack had been given two parks in Nuka World, plus the Disciples lands, Mags felt the need to not necessarily ingratiate the Operators with the Overboss, but certainly to keep them on a favorable footing. She despised the bitch, but did not want to be on the Overboss’s bad side. When that day came, Mags wanted to be staring smugly down at her dying fucking face. 

For now, Mags would bide her time. The Pack were idiots, and Mason would fall out of favor soon enough. If she could keep her mouthy brother under control for just a little longer, this little charade of respect would be over, and they could go back to their scheming in the Parlor.

Behind their leaders, the Pack and the Operators eyed each other with loathing.

Mason wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be doing. “Overboss? We don’t usually hang around for burns. What do you want us to do?”

Christine looked like she was carved from stone. She made no move to answer him.

“Overboss?”

“Remember.” She said quietly. “You remember the dead. You remember what they did. You thank them for being a part of your life.” Unshed tears glossed her eyes. “Then you let them go.”

William Black sneered. “Yeah I remember Gage. Weaselly, kiss ass suck up. Stuck us with fucking Colter, now we gotta deal with this bitch-“

Christine’s fist smashed into his teeth. Her other hand closed around his throat.

All hell broke loose. 

Mason grabbed Christine’s arm, trying to pull her away from the bleeding man. Mags shrieked. She launched herself at Christine, an Operator knife in her clenched fist. Christine kicked out at Mason. On the return, her palm caught Mags under the chin, snapping the woman’s head up. She grabbed Mags knife hand, but instead of wrenching the knife away, she yanked the petite leader’s arm up to drive the knife under William’s jaw, and into his brain.

Mags spasmed in shock at her brother’s blood streaming down her arm, and released the knife. Christine kicked his dead body back into the crowd of Operators. She fisted a bloody handful of Mags’ collar, and hauled her unresisting body up until they were eye to eye.

“Bad choices were made here”, Christine snarled into Mag’s white face. “Leave before the Operators make any more.”

Mason pried her fingers from Mag’s neck, but Christine’s eyes still bored into her.

Mags recovered her composure. She gestured to her brother’s body. “Bring him to the Parlor.” Her people rushed to obey.

She returned Christine’s look. “The Operators won’t forget this… Overboss.”

“Smart. It was meant to be remembered. I appreciate you coming tonight. Another death seems a fine sent off for Gage. 

 

The Overboss stood on the balcony of Fizztop Mountain, watching the last sparks from Gage’s smoldering pyre drift up, then wink out until the fire had burned to nothing but warm, feathery ash. She turned and walked to the bed. Their bed. The place where they had made love. Where he had lay dead. 

Mason gently set his rough hand on her shoulder. “Sleep, Christine. The Pack watches over you tonight.”

“He deserved better, Mason. He deserved someone who loved him more.”

“Yes. He did.”

She turned her stricken eyes to his.

“He had friends, you know.” Mason pulled Christine close and held her in his arms, not as a lover, but a friend sharing her pain. “He was mine, until a woman came tearing through the Gauntlet and swept him up. He fell in love with her the minute she pointed her gun at him. Suddenly he was talking about feeling someone deep in his soul, and children. Can you imagine that? A tough fucking raider like him trying to figure out how to keep her safe while she was carrying his child. How to keep her happy here, so she’d stay. Wondering what it would be like on the other side, living with her like a normal person. Girl, he’s been a raider since he was a kid. Hell, we were maybe thirteen when we met. Been together killing shit ever since. He could have been the leader of any fucking tribe he wanted to, but he didn’t. He was wrapped around making Nuka World our home. A place for raiders, where the god damn Minutemen couldn’t touch us. He was smart. Smarter than any of us. He got Colter to lead us in the direction he wanted. When Colter fucked up, he got you. Smart woman who could do what Colter couldn’t. If you couldn’t fix us, he said, no one could. He was ready to kill you if you didn’t do what we needed. Kill the General of the Minutemen and get the Commonwealth too. See? Smart man. Then you got here. Everything changed. He wasn’t mine anymore, just his friend. He wanted you. Even when you weren’t around, he wanted only you. Wanted to watch you sleep. Give you his god damn books. Have you really beside him, not just smelling your scent on his pillow. Hear you yell at him for making dumb fucking choices while you killed shit in the park. Watch you snap up and straighten out his ideas. See what he called ‘your wings’ in the mornings. Now because of you, he’s dead. Because of a woman who didn’t even love him back the way he loved her. He knew, you know. Said you’d come to love him in time. He was willing to wait. Said he’d wait as long as it took.”

Christine pushed herself from his arms and walked back to the bed. She wished Mason would just shut up and go away and take the truths she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge away with him. She knew she didn’t love Gage. How could he have felt that way about her? They barely even knew each other. Weren’t you supposed to know someone longer than a few days before you fell in love? 

Now Gage was dead. And just like she had warned Cait not to, Christine had held back. And this god damn irradiated hellhole she was stuck in had taken Gage before Christine had been ready. She waited, and they had both lost. God, would she ever stop losing?

She laid on the bed, facing away from Mason. Her hand rested on the bed where Gage’s chest should have been.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I loved you, Gage, just not as much as you deserved to be.” she said softly. “You were a good raider, but you were a good man, and for that I respected you more. I’ll miss you.” Tears slid slowly down her cheeks, dampening the pillow where he used to lay.

Mason slid onto the bed and spooned up behind her. His hand came up over her body to rest below hers on the chest of their absent lover. Their friend.

Christine felt the tension in his body. “You can cry, Mason. I won’t tell anyone.”

He slid his arms around her and held her tight, and quietly cried into the back of her neck until they both fell asleep.

 

Christine awoke, her hand still outstretched onto Gage’s side of the bed. Mason was gone. 

She watched her fingers gently stroke Gage's invisible chest. Her eyes closed against the tears choking her. “Now I know my life is real, because I lost someone else I loved,” she whispered. “I made the dream real, but your death wasn’t supposed to be part of it. What do I do now, Gage? I’m alive and not dreaming, and you’re not here. You left me.”

She startled at the rough voice that answered her.

“You finish what you and he started. Take the rest of Nuka World. One of my boys came up this morning. Said Mags wants to talk. Said she wants to apologize in person for her brother’s bad manners, and to come over when you wake up.”

Mason’s shadow detached itself from the wall next to the balcony.

She buried her face in Gage’s pillow. “Like that’ll happen.” 

With a last lingering gaze at her empty bed, she sat up. “Mason, did Gage design Colter’s arena armor?”

“Of course not. The man was smart, but he couldn’t tell a wrench from a screwdriver. Brush your hair and I’ll bring you down.”

“Down?”

“Sure as hell can’t go up, can we? Your mechanic is in the basement where Colter could keep everyone else away from him. Get on with it, Overboss.”

“Why didn’t Gage tell me about him? The first time I was here, I cleared out the Gauntlet. Second time, we cleaned out Frontier Town and gave it to you and scouted the other parks. Why didn’t he bring me to see this guy earlier?”

“How the hell should I know? You going to get ready yet? Taking fucking forever.”

Christine slipped from the bed and went into the bathroom. “Aren’t you a ray of sunshine this morning. Besides the obvious, what’s wrong? Something you’re not telling me?”

“No. Fucking Operators pissing me off. What the hell kind of game…”

“Of course it’s a game. I don’t think Mags could function any other way.” Christine came out still trying to yank the snarls from her hair. “Listen, there’s two ways this could go- either she tries kill me right away by shooting, or one of Lizzie’s little experiments, or she’ll want to know why the Operators aren’t getting a bigger cut of Nuka World. I’ll explain to her that Gage and I gave you Frontier Town for helping me with something, instead of telling me to do stuff for you, like she did. I don’t need to be in her good graces, she needs to be in mine.”

“Yeah, I think she might understand that now,” he said wryly.

“Safari Land you did the work yourself for. If she wants one of these parks, she should be willing to work for it to. Get Merc or someone you trust to bring her a message from me. I’ll tell her exactly what I just told you, and I’ll meet her at the World of Refreshment park. I’ll help her people clear it out for her own.”

“What the fuck? You know the first thing she’s going to do is try to kill you, right? Give me the damn brush. You’re going to rip out your hair.” He started gently working out the knots.

“Of course she will, but not until it looks like the park is almost hers and she doesn't need me anymore.” Christine tossed him the brush. “From what I saw when Gage and I scouted it out the last time I was here, it’s full of mirelurks and eggs. I think there might be a queen in that swamp behind the place. Anyway, it’ll be too much for the Operators. When they start to have trouble, I want the Pack to come in.”

Mason was livid. “What makes you think I’d do that?” He yanked through a particularly snarled section.

“Jesus, Mason! Ow! I don’t mean for you to help, dumbass. Do the same thing as we did with the Disciples. Divide and conquer. Clean out who they leave in Nuka Town, then come finish them at the World of Refreshment. I’ll help your people take out the rest of the mirelurks, and presto, another Pack territory. Sound good?”

“Why the hell wouldn’t it? So you moving here for good now, Overboss? Giving up the Minutemen?”

“What on earth gave you that idea? No. Too much to do over there.”

She cast a sad look at the bed. “And I’m not ready to be here alone yet.”

“I could live up here” he began tentatively. “Keep it up while you’re away.”

“Let’s add that to the list of things we need to talk about later. Right now, I want to meet who designed and built that armor. If he’s any good, I may have a much bigger job for him. Stop brushing my hair, Mason. You’re going to brush it right off my head.”

He grinned and dropped the brush into her outstretched hands. “You bet, Overboss. Now let’s go meet the man behind the men in power. His name is Raul, and he’s a ghoul. You okay with ghouls?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got all teary writing this. Did writing MacCready's emotional explosion in Goodneighbor as well. Readers, did either section affect you as well? And I sort of apologize for needing another chapter or two in the progression I wrote in last chapter's end notes. So much I want to get in! Again, so damn hard to wrangle my brain and not overwrite the story. I love doing this.  
> Had a great holiday! Hope yours was full of fun too!

**Author's Note:**

> Updated as the muse strikes me. Be the muse.


End file.
